


Angels and Devils in Tokyo City

by AlibiRooms



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mafia AU, Non-Supernatural, devilman crybaby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlibiRooms/pseuds/AlibiRooms
Summary: Akira Fudo is just trying to get through college, but a chance encounter with a gun-slinging stranger throws him into the middle of a war where everyone is out for blood - specifically, his.





	1. Chapter One

Akira Fudo was by no means a tough guy. He was currently curled up under the covers in his apartment, watching _Pride and Prejudice_ on his laptop. It wasn’t even at the sad part yet, and he was crying like a baby.

Not that he hadn’t earned this cry; he had been working his ass off in the library all day trying to keep up with his classes. It was the beginning of his second year of college, and he couldn’t afford to disappoint the Makimuras, and his parents, by not continuing his pattern of straight A’s. As if that wasn’t enough, he didn’t have any friends on campus or in class to help him retrieve all the information lost in the coffee-on-notebook spill. So he had hiked his ass back home early and fallen into bed, transferring his sorrows into Kiera Knightly and Matthew McFayden.

He had to pause the movie when his phone started to buzz. He sat up, sniffling and fishing it out from the nest of blankets. Miki’s contact picture smiled at him from the too-bright screen.

“Hey, Miki.”

“Akira!” Ambient sound told him she was outside somewhere. Probably the track. “How’s it going?”

“The same as always,” he struggled to cover up the sound of his crying. “How’s high school?”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Miki complained, “I’m a senior, okay?”

“I know, I know.”

“Have you been crying?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, “Uh, no, really bad allergies out here.”

“Ooooh. City allergies,” she said sarcastically. “I’ve definitely heard of that.”

So she knew. He wiped at a corner of his eyes, pushing black hair out of his face. At least she wasn’t making fun of him.

“How are your parents? I haven’t talked to them all week.”

“They’re okay,” she said. Small breaks and grunts in her speech broke over the phone line. She was probably warming up for practice. “Taro got in trouble at school. He’s grounded now; it’s hilarious. He’s never really been punished before.”

Akira laughed, imagining Taro’s pouty face when Leo had disciplined him. Akiko probably hated it; she always babied him.

“I miss you,” Miki said, after a pause. “Come visit soon?”

“I miss you, too, little sister.” There was a pang in his heart. He missed her, and the rest of his family, so much sometimes. A faint whistle blow sounded off on her end of the call.

“Oh! I gotta go. Practice is starting. Bye, big brother!” She hung up.

He buried his head into a pillow. He didn’t feel like a very good brother right then; he could barely keep up with his homework and never had the time to go home or even call with news. Nothing ever happened to him, so when he did call it was dry and depressing.

He finished his movie and went to bed early, dreading trying to decipher his stained notes in the morning. It was a restless sleep, and he didn’t feel any better the next morning.

~~~~~~

His face greeted him in the bathroom mirror early the next morning. He was paler than usual, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Akira thought he looked quite plain; unremarkable. He had stopped growing at 5’10” and still couldn’t pull off facial hair at almost 20 years old. He sighed and gave up dissecting his appearance. It never made him feel better.

There was time to get to the library before class, so he hurried to brush his teeth. He still had to finish a paper for Journalism before the weekend, and he was having a lot of trouble getting his point across in the closing arguments.

The drive to school was as depressing as ever. Cars honked, pedestrians jaywalked across the street, Akira tapped his fingers along to the song on the radio. It was cloudy, and his windshield kept fogging up.

The paper was finished by that afternoon. Akira submitted it not long after class, breathing in the stale library air. The most taxing thing he had to do that day was done, but that wasn’t much comfort.

Observing the other students plugging away at their work, he felt anxious. Maybe there was some other work he could get a head start on. He hated to feel lazy. But the quiet of the library was getting to him; the lack of sound pressed in on his eardrums and threatened another epic migraine. So he threw everything in his backpack and left.

The clouds had cleared up, and lazy white tufts drifted over the sun. He figured he could do something fun, or at least something to break up the monotony of such a boring day. He drove toward the water.

The docks were quiet. He paid the harbor master, exchanged pleasantries, and took out the first canoe on the right. He paddled out past the waves and onto the still blue water. Exhaling, he opened his bag and took out lunch. A cheese sandwich, a bottle of water, and a box of rice and tofu. It was nice.

He tried to write some poetry. It was such a relief to write something that wasn’t going to be torn apart by a tired professor with a red pen. He managed a few things, nothing memorable or worth refining. The sunset called him in, ironically. Hues of orange and purple creeping over the city were enough for a whole notebook of words, but he didn’t want to be out past dark. 

He rowed the boat back to its spot, taking note of the group of young men hanging around the end of the dock. They seemed to see him, too, and meandered toward the canoe. Akira pretended to pay them no attention, throwing the front rope over the wooden peg and pulling.

“Hey!”

He gritted his teeth and tied a knot.

“We’re talkin’ to you, little mermaid.” There was an outbreak of laughter from the men. Or boys, Akira really couldn’t tell. He looked up from where he bobbed in the boat. They were closer.

“Can I help you?”

“Docking fee. 11,000 yen.” The tallest one crossed his arms and stood on the edge of the wood. There were four of them.

“I don’t have any money with me,” Akira told him honestly. His money, sparse as it was, was in the bank. Not that he was going to tell them that. He grabbed the other rope and threw it around the back post, tying it taut. The small group watched him as he gathered his bag and stepped onto the wood. He debated if he could run past them fast enough to get away – high school track training and all. But it had been a while. He didn’t work out much anymore.

“Didn’t you hear me, mermaid?” The tall one said again. He flicked his wrist, and something shiny and sharp caught the lingering sunlight. A knife. “Pay up. I’m not asking.”

Akira took a step back, heel at the edge of the dock. The harbor master seemed to have gone for the day, and for once Akira regretted the fact that he was on such good terms with him.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“That’s too bad,” The boy said from behind dark sunglasses. He stepped closer. They were probably three or four feet apart now. Close enough for him to be cut in a moment’s notice. He was hit with the sudden memory of himself, defending Miki from a group of bully girls in middle school. They had cornered her on the playground and threatened to cut off her hair. Akira had stood in the way of the scissors for as long as it took for a teacher to realize what was going on.

Now there was no one to stand between him and this knife. And Miki had cut her hair off anyway. He didn’t know what to do. He missed her. All of these thoughts and more coursed through his head in seconds as his hands tightened on his shoulder straps. He was going to have to fight. Swallowing hard, he clenched his hands into fists. Then all five of them jumped about a foot in the air as an incredibly loud noise shot through the air.

For a moment, everyone looked around for the source. Akira saw it first. There, on the top of the long ramp to the beach, was a man. He stood in the last ray of sun, bright light reflecting off of short blonde hair and a long white overcoat. The most reflective thing, though, was the long pistol held up in the air.

“Who the hell is that guy?” One of the boys said. Akira gaped along with them, momentarily stunned.

“I suggest you leave the mermaid alone,” the man called to them in a bored voice. The gun, in one swift move, was pointed directly at the leader’s head – the one with the knife. “And I suggest you walk away.”

They all stared, dumbfounded. The gun cocked.

“Now.”

Something, maybe his perilous position on the edge of the water, snapped Akira back into the moment. He seized his chance and took a leap forward. The tallest man stumbled underneath his push, and the knife clattered across the boardwalk. The man cried out in surprise and fumbled in his pockets. Akira didn’t see what he was looking for; he was already sprinting toward the steps. The momentary distraction had saved him – the rest of the gang didn’t have time to react as he escaped. His feet pounded up, up, up and soon he was face to face with the blond.

“Thank you,” he managed through heaving breaths. His hands went to his knees with effort. The man gave one last disdainful look below before turning to face Akira. His gun safety clicked on as he stowed it inside the large white coat. He opened his mouth to say something, only no words came out. Instead, there was another loud bang, and the man’s mouth opened even wider. 

In pain.

A spot of red bloomed over the white fabric. Just over his shoulder. Akira yelled in surprise, rushing to him. Down below, the man Akira had just knocked over had a gun pointed at them. Akira pulled the stranger back from the ramp as another shot went off.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Akira said, panicking. They needed to get away. Now. The injured man doubled over in quiet agony. Akira couldn’t just leave him there.

“Come on,” he said. He pulled one of the other man’s arms around his shoulders, hoisting them forward. The stranger at least seemed to be somewhat small underneath the coat, and was surprisingly light. If Akira could just get them to his car…. It was across the beach, less than thirty feet away. He heard shouting behind them, over the labored breathing of the man he was carrying.

“What are you doing?” The man came to, trying to pull away. Akira held onto him tightly, partly because he couldn’t just leave him there, and partly because he thought he might collapse out of pure fear if he let go.

“Almost there… _Ah!_ ” There was another loud shot, and Akira felt a quick pain in his back. A bullet must have grazed him. He found his keys and clicked open the doors with shaking hands. The man collapsed into the backseat with a groan and Akira slammed the door. He could see the gang stop in the middle of the beach as he drove off with squealing tires.

“Are you okay?”

His voice came out about three octaves higher than he had intended, and he cleared his throat. The man in the back didn’t answer, but his breathing was shallow.

“Don’t worry – I’m taking you to the hospital!”

"No…no hospital,” groaned the stranger.

“What?!” 

“Don’t take me to the hospital!” He repeated more clearly, almost yelling.

“You just got shot!” Akira was still in fight or flight mode, and had to force himself to slow down to only ten miles above the limit. In the rearview mirror, the stranger sat up.

“Take me to where you live,” he grunted. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“I-yeah, but you probably shouldn’t be sitting up –“

“Just take me there. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Akira felt sweat break out across his forehead. It was beginning to feel very hot in his car. The exit to his street came up, and he found it hard to move his foot to the brake pedal. His legs and arms were shaking.

Swerving onto the exit, he glanced into his rearview mirror. The stranger was holding his shoulder, in pain. _Great,_ Akira thought. He had a gunshot victim in his car that he wasn’t taking to the hospital – that had to be some type of crime. On top of that, said victim had a _gun,_ and that was _definitely_ a crime.

_Just calm down,_ he tried to tell himself. But he was freaking out, and he knew tears weren’t far away. The hospital was only a few miles away – why wasn’t he going there? It was easy to follow orders when you were on the verge of an emotional breakdown, he guessed.

The drive felt like years. There was a steady pumping sound in Akira’s ears that he strongly suspected was his own heartbeat, and his vision was going black. He almost swerved off of the road twice, earning angry beeps and yells from other cars. He had never had a panic attack this severe.

It was fully night when the apartment complex came into view. Akira had never been so glad to see the run-down building. He had no plan, no recourse, but that was the last thing on his mind. His legs almost crumpled beneath him when he got out of the car. Anxiety made it difficult to walk.

He helped the other man out of the backseat. The stark red of blood on white fabric made him dizzy for a split second, but he pushed on. His vision swam as they went up the stairs. The stranger spoke to him a few times, but he could neither understand him or form an answer. By the time he got his key into the lock, he wasn’t sure who was supporting who. He took one step over the threshold and his face hit the floor.

~~~~~~

It wasn’t sleep. It was restless and full of pain. He wasn’t sure of what happened, or how he had gotten into his bed. He came to like a broken-down train comes into station; with halting stops and sudden lurches. Even with closed eyes, he knew it was too bright to be night still.

“You’re going to be in pain for a while,” a quiet voice said. Akira opened his eyes, squinting against the light, and saw a tall form standing just beside the window. The figure stepped forward. It was _him_. The blonde man. The one who had been shot.

Akira sat up, opening his mouth to speak, but before the words could leave his mouth he was hit by a wall of pain. He fell back to the pillow with a muffled thump.

“You should drink this,” a pale hand held out a bottle of water, the lid already screwed off. Akira didn’t take it.

“Who are you?” His voice sounded strange, even to him. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. The man hesitated, then set the bottle down on the bedside table. He wasn’t wearing the bulky coat anymore. The designer track suit was equally white but made him look more like a real person.

“My name is Ryo.”

"What….what happened to me?”

“You were shot.”

“No.” That was wrong. He struggled to remember. “ _You_ were shot. In the shoulder.”

The man – Ryo – nodded. “I was.”

Akira remembered the pain in his back. The bullet he thought grazed him. He hadn’t been _shot,_ though, there hadn’t been enough pain for that.

Ryo pulled the collar of his shirt to the side to show a series of white bandages where the gunshot wound must have been.

“I took care of that. You, however, were not so lucky.”

“No…” Akira tried to move again, but everything was so sluggish. He tried to sit up, but a hand on his chest kept him in place. “Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?”

Ryo’s face was expressionless. “It was too late. I was in a lot of pain and didn’t realize you had been shot as well. You went into shock.” The hand lingered on Akira’s chest before slowly pulling away. “It wasn’t until you passed out that I realized something was wrong. The bullet –“ He hesitated, “ – the bullet was lodged at the base of your spine.”

Akira’s eyes widened. His _spine?_

“Moving you could leave you paralyzed, and you would have bled out by the time an ambulance arrived. I removed the bullet by myself.”

“You _what?”_ Akira was trying to understand, but his head was so, so foggy. Nothing he was hearing made any sense. “That’s…you…”

“You’re going to be okay.” Ryo said. “I had to use… extreme measures, but the fact that you’re awake is very promising.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had something on hand. It’s experimental, but it was created by the top scientists in Japan. You are healing at a rate beyond anything I expect they’ve seen.”

“Scientists?”

Ryo nodded.

Akira remembered a movie he had watched a long time ago, about a man who had supernatural abilities due to a government drug, only to be driven insane by the side effects.

He could have died, though, if this Ryo guy was to be believed. Why would he lie? Why wouldn’t he just let Akira die?

“Why were you there?” He asked, opening his eyes. 

“Where?”

“At the beach. You saved me.”

Ryo gave him a very small smile. “I don’t like bullies.”

He held out the water again. Akira was suddenly very thirsty. He was going to try to sit up again, but Ryo held the bottle over him, allowing it to dribble into Akira’s mouth. He would have been embarrassed if it didn’t taste so good. When he dropped his head to the pillow again, he felt slightly better. With the relief came an overpowering urge to close his eyes and sleep.

Ryo watched him for a moment, before turning and walking toward the bookshelf. Akira thought he saw him fiddle with something there. Something with a bright red light. He closed his eyes against it and slept.

~~~~~~

When Akira woke up again he was alone. It was dark outside, and the first thing he noticed was how good he felt. Everything seemed to be slightly sore, but the pain was nearly all gone, and his head felt clear. He sat up, looking for his phone. It was nowhere to be found. He kicked the blankets off, moving his legs gingerly. Everything seemed… okay. He walked to the bathroom and flicked on the lights, flinching.

“ _Shit.”_ He looked bad. He looked… _wrong_. The worst were his eyes. They were completely bloodshot, deep red around the iris. He looked like a monster. Also, he touched a hand to his cheek, where the bones were now sharper and prominent.

His stomach growled and he put a hand to it. Instead of his own stomach, soft and pliant, there was hard muscle. He stepped back from the sink and pulled up his shirt. His body was wrong, too. His stomach was hard, with muscle definition. Like back in high school almost, only it was _not_ a runner’s body, which might have made some sense. It was… not his body. His jeans had been taken off at some point. Wearing only shorts, he could see the change had affected his legs as well.

His stomach growled again, and his dawning horror was beset by a very potent hunger. Ravenous hunger, actually. He went to the kitchen, turning on lights as he went, looking for his phone and not seeing it anywhere. There wasn’t much food in the fridge, either. He didn’t want to wait to make ramen or rice so he tore open a bag of croutons and started on that while he looked for his car keys. He needed to go out to find something more substantial. His favorite vegetarian place was pretty close. He could be there in five minutes.

His keys, however, were also missing. Just as he considered walking, there was a key in his door. He jumped, grabbing a kitchen knife in surprise.

“You’re awake,” Ryo said, stepping inside like he owned the place. He wore different clothes than before, under an unbuttoned white coat, completely identical to the one he had been shot in, so at least a day had passed. There was no red stain. His eyes dropped to the knife in Akira’s hand.

“I thought you would be hungry.”

He held out a fast food bag, and Akira dropped the knife immediately. He pulled out a chair and fell into it, tearing into the food. Ryo sat across and watched him take a bite out of a burger almost before he had the wrapping off. It was heaven to Akira’s empty stomach. He got through four or five before he felt he could slow down. That was worrying on its own – what was worse was that he finished before he realized what he had eaten.

“I don’t eat meat,” he said out loud, pushing the wrappers away guiltily.

Ryo didn’t answer. Akira couldn’t believe he had just eaten all that without a second thought. Fast food, no less. His stomach made another noise. He was still hungry…

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

Akira balked. “Three _days?_ ” His mind raced. “I missed _CLASS!_ ”

He sprang up, looking around for his computer.

“Relax,” Ryo said offhandedly. “Your professors have been informed of your illness. A classmate will take notes for you and you’ll be back to school the day after tomorrow.”

“H-how did you manage that?”

Ryo cocked his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, stop.” Akira put his hands on the table. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“I was taking care of you.”

“That’s what hospitals are for.” Akira thought of medical bills and shuddered. “Well, I’m awake now, so why don’t you just go?”

Ryo sighed and removed his coat with a wince.

“Do I really need to explain this again?” He sounded bored.

“Yes.”

Ryo sighed. “You were going to die. I saved you. You’re welcome.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’ve forgotten our many conversations over the past days.”

Akira’s confidence flickered. He didn’t remember much of anything after getting out of his car, except the man’s name and being fed some water.

Ryo leaned forward, speaking slowly. “You were shot. It was so near to your spine and bleeding so profusely you would have died or been paralyzed for life. I… _happened…_ to have an emergency measure on hand. A drug.”

“What kind of drug?”

"A drug that saved your life.”

Akira frowned, feeling even worse than he did before. “Well, it worked. So you can go now.”

“No.” There was a flicker of emotion in Ryo’s cold blue eyes, but his face betrayed nothing.

Akira was kind of stunned at the fact that this stranger was sitting in _his_ apartment after injecting _him_ with some mystery substance and being so incredibly withholding about it. His face must have given away his thoughts because Ryo sighed and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

“I can tell you that it healed you. Rapidly. I can also tell you that it was the only one of its kind and was supposed to be delivered...”

Akira stared at him. This wasn’t happening.

“What are the effects?” He looked at the empty burger wrappers.

“No one knows,” Ryo said quietly.

Akira struggled to breathe, sitting back in his chair. “I want you to leave. I have a lot of homework to do.” Maybe, if he just got Ryo out of his apartment, he could pretend none of this had ever happened.

Ryo, however, didn’t move a muscle.

“I know this may be an inconvenience to your academic life.” He stopped, seeming to arrange his words carefully. “Allowing me to drop in on occasion and observe your vitals, especially in the coming days, could save your life. Not to mention, you would be doing science a service by allowing me to record what I see. This drug could save a lot of lives in the future.”

Akira thought about it. This was real, he could actually _die_ at any moment from some sudden complication. It was seriously ruining his appetite.

“I want my phone back. And my car keys.”

“Of course,” he produced the cell phone from his pocket. “I didn’t want you to run off while I was gone.”

“Why not?” Akira turned on his phone screen. A quick look through his history showed multiple calls from Miki.

“I should warn you that attempting to go to the hospital or police would be…unwise.”

“Why is that?” Akira typed out a text to Miki, telling her he was okay.

“This drug isn’t _entirely_ legal. It would cast suspicion on you, to say the least.”

Akira looked up. “You mean you don’t…you don’t work for some sort of medical outlet or something?”

Ryo shook his head slowly. “Not exactly, no.”

The gun. Akira remembered the gun, wondered if there was one hidden in the coat again. “Are you a criminal?”

Ryo didn’t answer. His eyes were mischievous, though, and that was scary.

“You should eat,” he said, looking at the bag. Akira’s stomach won out over his trepidation. He began to eat some fries, watching Ryo wander around his small apartment. If the would-be criminal had planned on hurting him, he guessed he would have done it already. He couldn’t tell if the whole mysterious thing was an act or not. And was it Akira’s imagination or did he seem a lot shorter without the coat on?

His hair was blonde, almost white. Long on the top and short underneath. His skin was fair, too. Akira wondered where he was from. He certainly didn’t look like a criminal, but then it wasn’t very innocent to have a gun. Or to wear a coat in the summer.

He felt a lot better after eating, and found Ryo in his bedroom. He was holding a camcorder, inserting a new tape.

“So you just want to record everything I do?”

“And take your vitals. And some blood, hair, nails, that sort of thing.”

“Do you need to do that now?”

“Not today. I did it while you were sleeping.”

“Oh,” Akira shifted his weight, feeling awkward. And violated. But he was growing tired again, and he had a lot of homework to finish before he went back to school on Thursday. “I think I’m going to go back to sleep now.”

“Just don’t touch the camcorder. If anything happens, I left a number on the phone pad.” Akira followed Ryo to the door. Before he opened it, he looked at Akira.

“It should be obvious, but don’t tell anyone about this.”

Then he was gone. Akira stood in his now empty apartment, feeling utterly powerless. His life had just been completely derailed by a total stranger. There was a sharp pain in his temples. He promised himself that he would call Miki in the morning and collapsed into bed.


	2. Chapter Two

Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Akira opened all the windows and spent the entire morning on the couch. Like Ryo had said, a classmate was emailing him the notes from classes he missed. He went through his email history to find the messages Ryo had sent to get him off the hook, but they had either been deleted or sent from a different account. Professors at his university were very strict about absences and missed exams, and Akira was dying to know what Ryo had said to them.

When he finally called Miki, she was furious. He apologized earnestly, telling her he had been asleep for the better part of the weekend with the flu. He had to convince her that she didn’t need to come take care of him, which wasn’t easy. He knew she had a big meet coming up, and besides, he didn’t want anyone to know about what had happened… or to see how much Akira had changed. He couldn’t figure out what exactly was different about his face, but it unsettled him to look at his own reflection. His eyes were no longer bright red, but his pupils seemed bigger – owlish. Not to mention the unexplained musculature and what he had discovered to be an extra inch to his height.

All of this thinking wasn’t very helpful. Struggling to block out his anxiety, he stared at the philosophy reading. Food. Food sounded good. He would have liked to go out for groceries, but his car keys still weren’t in the apartment and he was too proud to call the number left scribbled on the phone pad. So, so hungry.

He managed to get a few pages of notes copied before the lock turned. Akira had almost managed to convince himself the entire weekend had been a dream, but Ryo shattered the illusion completely. He had take-out. Big, white boxes filled with onigiri, tofu tempura, and noodles. Akira ate it all without saying a word while Ryo watched him.

“You let yourself in,” he noticed, eventually. “Did you make a key?”

Ryo pushed off the wall, looking bored. He gathered the empty boxes without answering Akira’s question.

“I need my car keys back,” he said as Ryo threw them in the bin. “I know you have them.”

“If you need to go anywhere, I’ll take you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking. I have to go to school.”

“You shouldn’t be driving.”

Ryo disappeared to the bedroom, presumably to reload the camera. Akira returned to his homework, struggling to concentrate when the blond man was skulking around his apartment like a feral cat.

After a while, Ryo sat beside him and pulled a black bag from inside his coat. Akira set his notebook to the side, curious. Ryo began taking Akira’s blood pressure. After that, he took a blood sample from an index finger and shone a light in Akira’s eyes.

“Am I going to die?” He asked quietly as Ryo put away his things. Dying had been a concern shoved to the back of his mind, along with the freakish body changes. But having Ryo there made him want to ask.

“Not likely,” Ryo answered.

“I…I look _different_ , don’t I? My eyes…my body…”

Ryo blinked. “Your body?”

“It…it’s like I took steroids or something. I got these…muscles…overnight. And my eyes are all weird, and I think I’m taller.”

Ryo blinked again. He looked the slightest bit confused, but it was hard to tell with him.

“Stand up,” he said. They both stood up, and yep – Akira was definitely the taller one now. There was at least an inch difference. Ryo looked at him with wide eyes.

“And the rest?”

Hesitating, Akira pulled off his sweater, feeling overly exposed in the cool air coming in from the window. It didn’t help that Ryo was staring, the color draining from his face. That didn’t bode well.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“And I’m so _hungry_. What the hell did you inject me with?”

“I should go,” he said, picking up his bag.

“Ryo,” It was the first time he had said the name out loud. The man stopped at the door, turning around. The shocked impression was gone, replaced with a smooth façade.

“I’m scared.”

The only sound between them was the pattering of rain. Ryo looked at Akira, then at the floor.

“Call me if anything changes.”

And he was gone again.

~~~~~

Akira didn’t know if Ryo planned on returning that day, but pretty soon he was starving again, so he took down the number and sent a text version of his grocery list. Then he worked until the sun set. His hands were tired from typing and his eyes stung. He was finally starting to feel caught up, though, so that was something.

As it turned out, four days is quite a while to go without taking a shower. Now that the initial shock of waking up in a different body was gone, he could see how greasy his hair was, how bad the bags were under his eyes, and how bad he _smelled_. Turning just the right way in the mirror, he could see the angry red mark over his lumbar region. It was smooth like a scar, and it didn’t hurt at all. Underneath the hot water, he tried to reassure himself that it was going to be okay. That _he_ was going to be okay. It had been four days since the injection, and aside from outward appearance, he seemed to be doing fine. More than fine.

He toweled his hair off and tied the towel around his waist, going to the kitchen for some water. He rounded the corner to see Ryo sitting on the couch. He had a large white laptop and was typing something furiously. When Akira gasped in surprise, he looked up. His eyes got wide in that almost-almost-shocked way he had, and then dropped to Akira’s waist.

Akira cursed and ran back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut. The red light of the camera caught his eye. He turned it around.

“Sorry,” he said when he arrived back into the living room. Ryo didn’t say anything, just continued typing. Akira saw for the first time the bags on the kitchen table. He looked through them and saw that everything from his list had been purchased. Vegetables sizzled on the pan when he threw them on. He went through the bags while the noodles boiled, putting everything where it belonged. In the last bag were chicken cutlets and a slab of beef.

He looked across the room. “I don’t eat meat.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Akira supposed that was fair. He put the meat in the fridge and left it there. Stirring his dinner, he cleared his throat.

“Thank you for the groceries. I was starving. Again.”

The computer snapped shut with an audible click. Ryo dropped it into his black bag and pulled out the usual supplies for his “tests.” Akira guessed that was the only ‘you’re welcome’ he was going to get.

He sat at the table and waited through the procedure. Ryo didn’t say anything, and when he was done he stood and gathered his things.

“So,” Akira cleared his throat again. “I can expect you here twice a day?”

“That should be enough for what I need,” he said. Akira stared at the food he was making. A thought occurred to him, and was out of his mouth before he could think twice.

“Stay for dinner?”

They both seemed to stop in surprise at what had just been said. Ryo cocked his head to one side, looking at Akira like he was a school dissection that had just sprung to life.

“It’s the least I could do after…” he gestured to the room and himself. Ryo just blinked and Akira closed his mouth sharply, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all.

“I can’t,” Ryo said slowly. He pulled on his coat and opened the door. “Though I appreciate the offer.”

~~~~~

_I appreciate the offer._

Akira turned the words around in his head. Ryo was the only person he had interacted with in a while, and talked about as often as Akira’s couch. It was enough to drive anyone insane. So, he was left with this one sentence that he had turned into a complete enigma out of sheer boredom. 

Ryo came back twice again Wednesday. He didn’t say much except that everything with Akira’s vitals and blood tests were coming up normal. Akira questioned him about other things; if there were any other people with the drug in their system; where he was taking this information; if he was working for the government, etc. Ryo tended not to answer anything directly, and he certainly never offered any personal information. When he departed in the afternoon, Akira found his keys hanging on the hook by the door like they’d never left.

He got back to the swing of things at school easily enough. None of his teachers called him out for missing class. He did get a few strange looks from classmates, but that was to be expected. He probably looked like a completely different person to those who had seen them before.

Another one of the more extreme hunger flashes kicked in late Saturday night, and he ended up eating the chicken. He could barely wait long enough to cook it properly. He felt bad afterward, but the hunger was so intense he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

The days passed much as the same as before. Ryo stopped in early in the morning before class and in the late afternoons. He didn’t say or do anything out of the usual. Some afternoons he would stay for an extra thirty minutes to work on his computer. Sometimes he would bring Akira dinner, even though he was able to shop for himself now. Akira told him anytime something like a hunger flash or unusual fatigue happened, and if he was lucky he got a nod in return.

As strange as the situation was, he didn’t mind Ryo as much as he maybe should have. It’s not like he had any friends in the city, and Ryo was…inoffensive. He looked exactly the same every day; impeccable blond hair, spotless white clothes, a steely expression. The next two weeks passed without incident, but he never slacked on showing up exactly twice a day.

Akira had started to convince himself that everything was going to be okay, that Ryo and this drug would eventually fade from his life. That’s when it happened.

About two weeks from the injection date, as Ryo called it, Akira woke up very sore. He figured he had had a Charlie horse or something in his sleep. It would probably go away after he ate breakfast.

“Akira,” Ryo said suddenly, standing up from the couch with the camcorder in his hand. “Do you remember this?” He shoved the device between Akira and his cereal. Akira looked at the screen blearily. It showed him sleeping normally. About five seconds later the figure began thrashing on the bed. It was horrifying. After a minute or so, the little Akira on the screen fell still, breathing heavily.

“No,” he said. His heart sped up at the image. He looked at his cereal when Ryo pulled the camera away, appetite gone. “I don’t.”

Ryo was still standing just behind him, watching the tape intently.

“You had a seizure,” Ryo informed him, as though Akira didn’t know. Of course he knew; he had seen things like that in television shows. And once in school. He remembered an ambulance crew hauling off a kid with blood running out of his nose. He didn’t come to school for two days. Oh no. He had to cut Ryo off at the pass, here.

“I can’t miss any more school.” He stood, knocking Ryo out of the way with his chair.

“You realize the implications of this,” it was a question, but Ryo’s flat tone made it a statement.

“Actually, I don’t,” Akira said, dumping his cereal in the sink. He left the bowl there and turned to get dressed. Ryo unintentionally blocked his way around the table.

“I should take you to a specialist,” he said quietly, looking at the camcorder. He seemed to be talking to himself, though, so Akira stepped around him. He pulled on a sweater and jeans. As he was forcing a brush through his hair, Ryo stepped into the bathroom doorway.

“You’re actually going ?”

“I have to,” Akira said tiredly. “There’s only a week left before midterms.” 

He watched the other man’s reflection. Ryo was looking at his lower back, as though he could see the red scar through Akira’s clothes. It burned slightly under his gaze.

“I’ll drive us.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Akira dropped his brush into the sink and turned around. Ryo squared his shoulders and repeated himself. Then they stood there, looking at each other. Ryo took off running before he did, and by the time Akira made it to the front room, his car keys had disappeared. He balled his hands in his fists and did his best to look intimidating. Ryo just shrugged.

“You can’t legally drive after having a seizure, anyway. And I’ll need to be there if it happens again, so no one can try to take you to a hospital.”

“I’m so grateful,” Akira said sarcastically, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. Ryo nodded and held the door for him. He expected Ryo’s car to be in the parking lot in front of the complex, but he kept walking. Two lots over, Akira stopped. The car they were walking toward was the only one in the lot. A silver sports car, the likes of which Akira had never seen outside of the city. Around here, there were mostly beat up trucks and used sedans.

Ryo unlocked the car and rolled his eyes at Akira’s hesitance.

“Are you coming?”

Reluctantly getting into the car, Akira couldn’t help but think of all those murder documentaries that stressed _never_ to go to a second location.

 _I’m doing this by choice,_ he told himself. _I’m totally not going to die today._

Not that it would have been a bad way to go – he took in the leather interior and top of the line radio console. Even he had to admit, the car was badass. But as much as he appreciated it, it gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d had suspicions of Ryo’s affiliations before, but this car basically screamed _criminal_. Normal people didn’t have cars like this, especially so young. He _must_ be Yakuza. Or something less dramatic but equally dangerous.

He clutched the sides of his seat as the car sped up on the highway.

“For someone who wants me to stay alive, you seem to be trying very hard to kill us both,” Akira gritted out as they took a turn at almost a hundred miles an hour. Ryo didn’t answer him, but the speedometer lowered to eighty. When they got to campus – much faster than normal – he pointed out where to park.

He thanked Ryo for the ride and got out of the car as quickly as possible. People were already staring. He had taken two steps away when he heard the other door slam. Ryo was getting out of the car. Oh god.

“What are you doing?” Akira bit his lip at his own rude tone. It wasn’t like him to be so brusque, even if it was deserved. Ryo sidled up next to him with a smile.

“Going to class with you.”

Akira shook his head, “I-I don’t think it’s safe for us to be seen together… Is it?”

Ryo’s eyes flashed with amusement, and he wound his arm through Akira’s, moving forward in one smooth motion. Then Akira was being pulled toward the main building by a surprising strong grip.

“You don’t need to worry about anything like that when you’re with me.”

Akira stared at where their arms joined, once again speechless in the face of Ryo’s strange personality. Right now, he was smiling absently, as though they were old friends taking a stroll together. Akira got the distinct impression he was putting on an act because they were in public, and that gave him even more trepidation than before. He pulled his arm from Ryo’s as soon as they were inside the building. They didn’t need even _more_ people staring.

He took his usual seat in the back of the lecture hall. Ryo sat next to him, looking out of place in his black slacks and overlarge olive green turtleneck and expensive-looking shoes. It was _hot_ outside, for Christ’s sake.

He got his computer out for taking notes. Ryo followed suit with the large white laptop he always had with him. The lecture started with the older, bespectacled professor booting up a slideshow about ethics in journalism and beginning his droning monologue. Akira struggled to focus on the lecture without looking at the screen next to his, where Ryo was sending emails. At least, that’s what it looked like; his fingers flew over the keys at the speed of light, opening and closing windows so fast Akira could hardly read them.

As the hour went on, Akira tried to type as quickly as possible to keep up with his professor’s quick lesson, and his elbows kept brushing against Ryo’s. It was nice, like they were friends. Or something. But Ryo was only there to make sure no one took Akira to the hospital and consequently exposed the secret drug. God forbid he got real medical help.

Before he knew it, class was over. He blinked at his screen, unnerved at how he had only taken two pages of notes. It was usually around five. The source of his distractions followed behind him to the library. Akira went straight to his usual table and pulled out some homework assignments. Ryo sat, eyebrows drawing together.

“How many classes do you have today?” He asked. 

Akira started to scribble an outline for yet another paper. “One in an hour and one right after that.”

The tempestuous sigh from across the table set his teeth on edge.

“If you’re bored you can always leave.”

He didn’t get an answer.

~~~~~

Nothing unusual happened for the next few days. Ryo kept an annoyingly close watch on Akira throughout the school day, disappearing after driving him home. It was like having a chauffeur who refused to engage in conversation and had a key to your apartment. And he was unsettlingly different when they were in public, so touchy and cheerful that the return to stoicism when they were alone was jarring.

Miki pestered him relentlessly about coming home for a weekend, but he kept putting it off. He had a strong suspicion that Ryo would follow him, and he didn’t want to put his adopted family into any danger, no matter how much Ryo insisted otherwise.

On the next Friday afternoon, something unusual happened. In bed watching a movie, Akira heard Ryo come inside. He didn’t get up or anything – the weirdo could show himself around at this point. He felt more than heard when Ryo stopped in the doorway of his bedroom.

“No studying today?”

He let the movie play over the resounding silence for a moment, a little surprised at the personal question not about his health.

“Uh, not right now. I have a headache.”

“A headache?”

“I don’t think it’s a…side effect thing. I just worked all morning.”

“Oh.” He picked up the camcorder. “Anything happen last night?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Akira didn’t tell him that ever since the first seizure, all he wanted to do was watch through the night when he woke up. It was as scary to look as it was not to, but in the end Ryo watched it anyway. So, whatever.

He pretended to watch the movie while Ryo blazed through the night hours. He concentrated on the playback, brow furrowing. Akira’s heart pounded.

“Nothing,” Ryo said, snapping the screen shut. The movie played on. Ryo left the room, and Akira assumed he left the apartment, though he didn’t hear the door. He eventually dozed off, exhausted from the long week.

To his surprise, Ryo was still there when he woke up. He was sat on the couch with his shoes off and his legs crossed underneath him. The only sound was the tapping of the keyboard.

“You’re still here,” Akira said. Unsurprisingly, he got no answer. He rephrased the statement.

“Why are you still here?”

“I didn’t get your blood yet. And you were sleeping.”

Akira supposed that was an answer. He set about making dinner. There had been meat in his fridge for too long, so he decided on a pork cutlet bowl. He could save what he didn’t eat tonight for the weekend. Somewhere in the past week, he had decided that eating meat was a necessary evil. Vegetables just didn’t fill his stomach anymore.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat?” Akira jumped when Ryo’s voice was right behind him. Christ, the guy was a _mind reader_ or something. He looked over his shoulder and was shocked at how close Ryo stood, looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t like him.

“I-uh, didn’t want to waste it.”

“Are you going to eat all that by yourself?”

Akira slowed in his stirring, frowning to himself. It was like he could feel Ryo’s breath on his neck. His heart began to pound unevenly, and his face felt hot. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“Probably not.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I ate with you?”

And then it was like Ryo was crawling under his skin. His words seemed amplified in the small room, and Akira got chills.

The spoon dropped to the oven in a messy clatter. Akira turned around. Ryo, somehow, had moved farther away. Or maybe he was never that close. The suffocating feeling only seemed to increase, though, and he had to evacuate _now_. He slammed the bathroom door shut and leaned over the sink, breathing hard. He tried splashing cold water on his face, but that didn’t help. He felt like he was covered in sweat.

He heard a knock on the door, and Ryo calling his name.

“I’m fine,” he called out, “I just need a minute.” He turned on the shower as cold as it would go and stripped off his clothes. He stared below his waist at the resolute hardness. Well, _that_ was new. His height wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

For the sake of his sanity, he ignored it and stepped beneath the cold water. It helped with the heat flash coursing through his blood. He turned his face into the water and tried to will the boner away. This was a new side effect, and one that he wasn’t particularly intent on telling Ryo about. Akira wasn’t even sure what had triggered this. Maybe it was all the meat he was eating lately. That must be it.

After a while, when he was feeling normal again, he put his clothes on and walked back into the kitchen, trying not to convey what had just happened. Ryo had… _set the table?_ He stood up when Akira entered, looking at him anxiously.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Akira looked at the two bowls of food. “I just got really hot all of a sudden.”

“You got hot,” he repeated, like he didn’t believe it.

He walked toward Akira, raising his hand as though to place it against his forehead. Akira took a hasty step back. His hand flew up to grab Ryo’s forearm, and they both stood there in silence. Ryo raised his eyebrows dangerously, and there was color in his cheeks, for once. Akira pulled his hand away as though burned.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

Ryo’s eyebrows slowly migrated back to their perch over bright blue eyes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

They sat. Akira dug in to the cutlet bowl, out of equal parts hunger and a desire to avoid conversation. Ryo ate slowly, with all the grace of a prima ballerina, and Akira could feel his curious gaze the entire time.

“Are you foreign?” He blurted out, biting his tongue immediately after. That was a rude question. He just hated being watched. It made him feel twitchy.

“Not exactly,” Ryo didn’t seem at all perturbed. He probably got asked often, having seemingly natural blond hair and fair skin.

“Mixed?”

Ryo nodded. “My father was Russian. I lived there for a time.”

“Can you speak it?”

“Yes.”

Well, that was cool. Akira had only ever learned English, and only written English at that. He wondered if knowing Russian was useful in whatever criminal activities Ryo got up to.

“Have you grown up here?” Ryo asked the question this time. He had stopped eating, spoon hovering above his bowl.

“Yes,” Akira responded. He thought of how to answer that question. Ryo would almost definitely be satisfied by his one-word answer, but Akira wanted to keep the conversation going. Anything that wasn’t about his current physiological situation was good. “About an hour North. I kind of grew up with my parent’s friends. My parents travel a lot for their work.”

"I wondered who the people calling you so much were.” 

“Yep, that was them.”

“And the girl – is she your sister?”

He must have seen Miki’s photo pop up when she had called. “Miki’s their daughter. Basically my sister. And their son, Taro, is a little brother to me.”

Ryo stared at him, to the point of making him a little uncomfortable. Then he smiled, and it was small but genuine. Not overly gaudy like when they were in public. It was real. Akira almost asked about Ryo’s family, but he doubted he would get any answers. Ryo was probably just talking to him because he felt bad. He knew better than anyone that Akira didn’t have any friends.

After eating, Ryo insisted on taking his temperature. It was normal, thank Christ, and he watched a small vial of his blood get zipped into a small book and put in Ryo’s bag. His finger stung from the prick.

“What do they say about it? The, um, the people you take my blood and stuff to.”

Ryo paused while zipping up the bag, but only for a moment.

“Everything is fine.”

That was a phrase Ryo used often – “everything is fine”. It wasn’t really an answer and Akira wasn’t really reassured. He knew he probably should tell Ryo about what had happened before dinner, but he would die of embarrassment before that happened. It was so minor, it probably didn’t even matter.

Ryo left, and Akira was bored. He went back to bed after a while. Would things be awkward between him and Ryo in the morning? Would they have another pseudo-normal conversation? He didn’t know why he was so preoccupied with it, or why he kept replaying the moment when he had grabbed Ryo’s arm. The feeling of cool skin beneath his hand, the pink flush on Ryo’s cheeks. The quiet strength Akira had felt.

_Bang._

Akira sat up with wide eyes. Something had just made a very loud noise in his apartment. He looked at his phone. It was midnight. He must have fallen asleep without realizing.

“Ryo?” He walked down the dark hallway, wondering what was going on. “Ryo, is that you?”

There was a light in his living room. He stepped into the room and saw that it was coming from the front door, which was hanging open. He had less than a second to be alarmed before there was a stinging sensation in his neck and his legs were kicked out from beneath him.

~~~~~

It smelled like antiseptic. It smelled like a hospital. He had broken his leg – that was it. He had broken his leg while running track, and Miki called an ambulance for him. He was so upset, because that was the end of his track career, and he knew it. Miki would be devastated.

Except, no…that wasn’t it. Miki was still home, but Akira had left. That had been almost two years ago now. He was in college. And, more recent still, he had a friend. A tall white friend. No, not white. Yellow and cream. Blue eyes and pink cheeks. That’s what this was about.

Sweet. He had arrived back at the smell; sharp and too-sweet. The hospital. He must be in the hospital because of the drug. Maybe he had a seizure or something during class. Ryo wouldn’t bring him to the hospital, though…

Where had Ryo been? Ryo…in his apartment…his neck. Ryo wouldn’t do that. Panic bloomed anew in Akira’s chest as his slow mind caught up with the present. He opened his eyes, letting the room around him swim into focus.

It looked like a warehouse. Or a vault. The walls were a gunmetal gray, the ceilings high. It was a large space, with scattered chairs and chains hanging from the walls. The white light from the lamp hanging above him cast his body in a sickly pallor. He looked down at his own bare chest. Maybe it was the light, but he was almost _too_ pale. Thick black straps stood out starkly against his bare wrists. He pulled them as hard as he could, which wasn’t very hard at all in his current condition. Regardless, they didn’t budge.

He looked in horror at the needles stuck in his right wrist; IVs dripping unknown clear fluids into his veins. And on the left, a needle in his inner elbow pulled his blood through a dark red tube. Who knows how much had been taken already? He was already so woozy.

“Hello?” He called out. It hurt to move his jaw. His voice echoed through the dark room in waves like the pain in his neck. “Who’s there?”

There was a far-off noise, like something from a different room. And a closer one he thought was a voice. Then, from behind him, was the clicking of high-heeled shoes. He tried to turn his head, but that hurt, too.

“I wouldn’t try to move, dear,” a voice said to his grunt of pain. It was a low, sultry, voice. A dangerous voice. A woman came into view then. She was beautiful, he supposed. In a scary kind of way. Where her hair caught the white light, it shone blue. She smiled at him without warmth.

“What do you know?”

He looked at her, silent. He didn’t know anything, but there probably wasn’t a point in saying that. The monitor next to him had been beeping in accordance with his heart, and it sped up. The woman smiled at it.

“Are you scared of me? That’s smart. Some people make the mistake of thinking I’m just…” she reached out and traced a long black fingernail down Akira’s cheek. He flinched. “…A pretty face.” Her talon scratched him slightly when she pulled away. Akira looked at the red tube drawing blood from his elbow, panic blooming.

“What do you want from me?”

She leaned in, and Akira wrinkled his nose. She smelled like formaldehyde.

“You have something inside you that is very valuable, Akira Fudo. Something that makes _you_ very valuable. Do you know what that is?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied. “Please let me go.”

The woman looked unimpressed with him and crossed her arms. Akira tried to think of Miki. He wondered if he would ever see her again. It was very peculiar; he knew in his mind that this was a very bad situation, but whatever was being pumped into him made it hard to focus on that fact. His thoughts were coming in and out of his head like the dust particles floating in the light in front of him.

“A gunshot wound to the back, but no medical records. That’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

So they knew his name, and had looked at his hospital records. Jeez.

He could tell she was getting impatient with his silence. He wasn’t even doing it on purpose. He was trying to think of something to say, but kept losing track of his thoughts. The machine beeped at an allegro, alerting him to his own fear.

“Tell me about Asuka.”

“Who?”

“The boy.”

So they knew about Ryo. They must know about the drug, too. They had been watching, probably long enough to know that Ryo wouldn’t be there at night.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know him. He’s been living with you for weeks now.”

 _Not living,_ was his first thought, _it’s not like that._ He kept his mouth shut.

“A boyfriend? A _lover,_ perhaps?” She smiled sweetly. “Taking you to school, watching over you like a lost puppy.”

Akira didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think he should admit to anything, even that he knew Ryo. Ryo Asuka, as it were. Akira desperately wished he was here, or could somehow know where he was. If it was morning already, he would know something had happened. If not, then absolutely no one knew where he was.

“Or,” she continued vindictively, “he was keeping track of you, checking in after saving your life with something so experimental it’s hardly been tried on _guinea pigs._ ”

She was waiting for a reaction, that much was clear. He did his best to keep his face straight. Her nails brushed against a needle in his wrist and he gasped in pain.

“Don’t want to talk? Very well. I’ll leave you to it.”

As she walked into the darkness, Akira realized the blood was still being drawn from his arm. It was a lot, and it didn’t look like anyone would be stopping it soon. He did his best to say alert and awake, but it was getting harder. He was tired. 

“They don’t know what to look for, I guess. We took enough blood to test. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure it out.”

Akira listened to the far-off words, spoken as though through a long tunnel. He didn’t know if he was awake or dreaming.

“Guy seems normal. Never been to the downtown spots. Just the university.”

“Shit, maybe it is his boyfriend.”

“Fucking queers. Knew the Devils were full of them.”

And, later, the voices were different. Clearer.

“They said Lucifer himself would come down here if we didn’t give it up. They got guys at the doors right now.”

“Then do it,” the woman’s voice commanded. The other voices fell quiet. Hers was the loudest. Akira felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes with some effort, and she was right there. “You return to them,” she said softly, “And when you see Lucifer, let him know,” she leaned toward his ear, “That he may be the Devil, but I’m God.”

Then she kissed him. Full on the mouth. Akira may have been out of it, but it was definitely a kiss. Then an apathetic voice drifted to his ears, quieter than anything else but full of authority.

“That’s enough.”

The woman stood up, the smile dropping to a sour expression. Her hair brushed against Akira’s cheek. He looked past her, realizing there were a lot of people in this room. Men in nice clothes, all with bigger guns than Akira had ever seen in his life. They stood around the woman and behind her, fading into the shadows.

Akira looked to the left, and it was the same, only there were several women mixed in. It seemed to be two separate groups facing each other. But, more importantly, opposite the woman by the hospital bed was Ryo. Wearing the ridiculous white coat. His hair seemed to shine even in the dim lighting of the room. Then the white of the coat and the white of the hanging bulb swam together in a sickening wave. Akira dropped his head back.

“I’m just getting started, kid.” The woman’s hand was still on Akira’s arm. Her nails dug into the skin there, making him wince. A small groan escaped his mouth.

“We won’t forget what’s been done,” Ryo said. A more delicate hand landed on Akira’s other shoulder.

“I thought the boss was coming,” the woman sneered, “Not sending his lackey.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

Akira tried to follow their back and forth, but it wasn’t easy. He was missing parts of their low conversation. He just wanted to be back in his bed. When he opened his eyes, Ryo was looking at him. His eyes were dark and cold _._ He said something that Akira didn’t understand. Then he pulled on his arm. Akira followed with difficulty, realizing for the first time that he was no longer strapped in. The floor was cold against his feet. 

There were a lot of stairs. It was insane how many stairs there were. Ryo supported him with one arm, Akira’s head growing lighter and lighter.

He tried to focus, to take in everything he could so he could try to tell the police. But all he could feel was Ryo’s arm around him, Ryo’s shoulder under his arm. All he could see was blond hair, and the chemical smells had been replaced by something earthy and warm. The stairs continued, and although Akira was aware of his legs moving, he could no longer feel his feet.

Floating. Higher and higher they went. Ryo was pulling him up, up past the dark basements and fluorescent lights of the earth and into the honey yellow sun. He gripped Ryo where he could, afraid of falling. It would be a very long way.

They must have been floating through a cloud, then, because something white and heavy passed over his head, and enveloped his body.

Someone said his name. He opened his eyes, realizing the stairs had finally stopped, and that he had Ryo’s coat wrapped around him. It was heavy. There were more words exchanged, probably not to him.

A door opened into blinding light, and then they were outside. It was the city, downtown maybe. They were in the middle of the afternoon rush. Cars and people whizzed by in front of him. The sudden noise and color was an onslaught to his senses. The group of people that had been following them seemed to have dispersed, although two men in dark street clothes walked a few paces behind them. They just looked like people. And Ryo looked like a boy. And Akira looked like a barefoot teenager in a designer coat.

More walking, then Ryo steered him toward an alley, where the gleaming sports car sat. Ryo sat him in the passenger seat and closed the door. Akira struggled to keep his eyes open, watching the blond exchange words with the same two men that had followed them. He allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment. When he opened them, the car was moving.

He stared at the hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white.

“Are you okay?”

Akira looked at him, turning his head as far as he could without his vision threatening mutiny. Ryo looked tired. He glanced sideways when Akira didn’t answer.

“Did they hurt you?”

“My blood.” Akira’s voice was hoarse and he wasn’t entirely sure he was getting the words out correctly.

“Shit.”

He had never heard Ryo curse before. It was kind of funny. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes again. When he opened them, the car was stopping. Time passed in waves as Ryo borderline dragged him across a dark room with other cars in it – a parking garage? A well-lit elevator took them upwards, a direction Akira’s stomach was not eager to move.

“Where are we?”

“This is where I live.”

Akira wanted to go home, but he could hardly string a sentence together, much less argue with Ryo. The elevator came to a smooth halt what seemed like hours later.

Ryo pulled him toward a large white couch. Akira sank into it.

“Are you hungry?”

“What?”

“You should eat something.”

Nausea rolled through Akira’s stomach. He clutched at his head and groaned.

Ryo dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Akira? Talk to me!”

 _I just got kidnapped because of you, you stupid idiot,_ he wished he could say.

Ryo left him there for a minute, disappearing down a hallway. Akira used the opportunity to struggle with the heavy coat, afraid of throwing up on it. He pushed it away from him and slumped back, exhausted with the effort.

“Here,” Ryo appeared in front of him, crouching. He was handed a tall glass with something green and thick inside. “Drink this.”

Akira drank. It was goopy and tasted like grass, but after a few sips he felt a small bit better. Ryo watched him for a moment, then started fiddling with an array of things on the white table that Akira hadn’t noticed. He unscrewed a large gray bottle and wet a cotton ball with it. Then he leaned in, pressing it to Akira’s now bare shoulder. The liquid stung, and he flinched. Ryo put a hand around his arm, holding it steady. His hand was warm.

“Don’t move.” He continued to dab the cotton down Akira’s arm.

Akira looked down at the four small crescent-shaped marks on his shoulder. They were bright red against the pale skin.

“Silene,” Ryo said darkly. “She always leaves her mark.” Akira watched him open a box of bandages and place one over the cuts. He repeated the process on the mark on his elbow, then on his wrists. Akira’s head buzzed with questions.

“Ryo…”

Ryo’s fingers lingered on Akira’s wrist, holding it lightly. “I’m so sorry, Akira. This is all my fault.”

“You saved me,” Akira said woozily. He decided he could be angry when Ryo didn’t look so upset. Ryo stared at Akira’s wrist for a moment, then up at the glass Akira still held.

“You should finish that,” he said. Akira obeyed, draining the liquid. His stomach flipped, but he didn’t think he would throw up anymore. Ryo took the glass from him. He wiped at his mouth with his free hand, and frowned at a dark red mark on his thumb.

“Silene,” Ryo repeated. He released Akira’s wrist and used his thumb to wipe across Akira’s lower lip. He had a red mark, too. Lipstick. Ryo looked at his thumb distastefully.

“I’m sorry,” Akira said without thinking. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for. It didn’t make any sense.

He didn’t protest as Ryo helped him lie down and threw a heavy white blanket over him. He was asleep within minutes.


	3. Chapter Three

There was too much light. It seeped through closed eyelids in bursts of white and red. Akira sat up painfully. It was day – early morning, maybe. The sounds of the city were very faint.

Akira looked around curiously, taking in the room with a clear head. With the added sunlight, the white was even brighter. A huge white rug spread across the center of the room and under the couch. Below it was a darkened hardwood floor. The couch he was on made a large L around a white wood coffee table. An enormous flat screen television stared blankly at him.

The entire back wall, though, was a window, and that’s where all his attention went. He stood up hesitantly, head swimming violently. After a few heavy breaths, he shuffled slowly to the window. The view was breathtaking. Far below, the city moved in miniature. The cars were like children’s toys and the people like worker ants.

To the left of the back wall, there was a large, open balcony. It was a white terracotta, with a small swimming pool glinting in the sunlight. He stood there for a good while, taking in the view. The rent must be astronomical.

Eventually, his stomach wouldn’t be ignored. He crossed the room to peer down a short hallway. There were three doors; one on the left and two on the right. Only one was slightly ajar. Akira crept toward it, making out the sound of running water. Peering through the gap, he saw a dark wood dresser, atop which sat a stack of paper and a series of what could have been photographs. At the end of the hall was another open room. A kitchen.

There was slightly more color here; the granite was a dark grey pebbled with foggy white. The cabinets were white with black handles. The tile under his feet was darker than the granite. It had the feel of a kitchen rarely used. The surfaces were extremely clean and a quick look in the cabinets showed mostly empty shelves. He thought of the Makimuras’ kitchen, and how it was constantly full to bursting with food and personal effects.

The fridge, luckily, was stocked. With all the same things Akira had asked for in his only text to Ryo. He took this as an invitation to eat and started with the microwavable Ramen bowl. He was standing by the microwave when Ryo stepped into the hallway. He saw Akira and stopped.

His hair was damp, hanging over his eyes without shine. He wore a white t-shirt and black track pants. His feet were bare on the tile. He looked much different than Akira had ever seen him, and, for a moment, he seemed caught off guard.

“Akira,” he said cordially, walking toward the large coffee press. Akira watched him, thinking of something to say. _How did you sleep? I slept just fine, my body had to work off the sedatives and blood loss from my kidnapping. You know, the one you had to save me from?_

He shook his head free of the invasive thoughts. Best not make rude comments before he had eaten. The microwave beeped loudly and he pulled out his food.

“Akira,” Ryo said quietly, while packing coffee grounds into a small steel bowl, “Do you remember everything that happened?”

Akira exhaled through his nose, looking at Ryo’s back.

“Yes.”

“I need you to tell me everything you can. Do you think you can do that?”

Akira bristled at his condescending tone.

“Yeah, I can do that.” It came out a bit snappy, but he thought he more than deserved to be angry.

Ryo leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms expectantly. Akira tore open the flavor packet and poured it into the steaming cup.

“They took my blood. A lot of it.” He envisioned the red tube and was hit with a wave of nausea. The noodle cup was suddenly very unappetizing.

“Maybe it was the blood loss, but I think they gave me something to knock me out. There was that…that woman.”

“Silene.”

“Right. She tried to get me to tell her I had the drug in me, so I guess they didn’t know if I did or not. I didn’t tell her anything. She was insinuating that – that –“

“What?”

“That we were…that I was your boyfriend or something.”

Ryo tapped a staccato on the granite, unperturbed, while Akira tried to will away the blush rising to his cheeks.

“What else?”

“There were some men,” Akira struggled to remember through the drug-induced haze. “Something about the Devil and someone named Lucifer. The boss. They were scared of him, it seemed. I don’t remember much more than that,” he lied. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat the slur used by the faceless voice, and he didn’t see how it mattered, anyway.

“Wait…” He remembered what Silene had said to him just before Ryo showed up. “She told me that when I saw Lucifer…to tell him that he may be the Devil, but she’s God…or something.” Out loud, it sounded fucking stupid. But it had chilled him to the core when she had said it.

Ryo raised his eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Does that mean anything? Because it sounds like nonsense.”

Ryo straightened up and poured a cup of coffee. Akira frowned at his noodles, thinking a horrible thought. He almost couldn’t get the words out, but there was no point in beating around the bush.

“You knew this would happen.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

"You knew people were watching. Whenever you took me to school, whenever we were in public, you acted different. You wanted deniability, so you pretended we were…together.” Every smile, touch, and laugh that had been so out of place before took on a whole new light. Akira had thought about it before, but it seemed too ridiculous. Ryo didn’t turn around.

“Ryo, if they took my blood, they’ll know I took the drug. Won’t they?”

He shook his head. “There are no traces of it in your blood.”

Akira breathed hard.

“Is it the mafia?” He asked quietly, gripping the stool in front of him. Ryo didn’t answer. “Are you…Yakuza?”

Ryo snorted. “Honestly, you could try to be a little more creative than _that._ ”

"I’m right, aren’t I?” Akira took a step back.

“I’m not Yakuza.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Ryo exhaled lengthily. Then he pumped the coffee press a few times. Akira wanted to hit him, force him to engage in the conversation.

“It’s not like in the movies, Akira. I don’t go around killing people.”

“So you are in the mafia.”

Ryo stirred in some sugar. “I could try to explain it to you, but I doubt it would make sense.”

“How can you say that like it’s nothing? You’ve dragged me into some sort of… _conspiracy_ and now I’m a target!”

Ryo took a sip of coffee.

“Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”

“Something already _did_ happen! What if they had killed me? What if you hadn’t been able to find me? What would you have done then?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Ryo said stiffly. “Why would they have killed you? Everyone wants you alive.”

“You could have _told me!”_ Akira hadn’t meant to shout, but he was so _angry_. Ryo shut his eyes with every appearance of a man counting down from ten in his head.

“Stop ignoring me.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” Ryo said around his next sip. “I have nothing else to say.”

“How about ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Akira, for dragging you into this stupid turf war and getting you kidnapped’.”

“Would you rather I had let you die?” Ryo looked at him obstinately. There was a slight flush to his cheeks now.

“Maybe!”

Ryo clenched his jaw.

“You’re being ridiculous. I don’t have time for this.” He took his mug and strode to the door he had come out of, pointing a long finger. “ _That’s_ your room.”

His voice was as apathetic as ever, but the door slammed shut with considerable force.

“Damn it,” Akira said. He should have known losing his temper would get him nowhere. He ate the ramen, even though he could hardly taste it. Then, because what else was there to do, he went to the door Ryo had pointed at.

It looked like a guest room. The bed was made up in a white and gray spread with towels folded near the base. There was also a bag there, one Akira recognized as his own. He walked across the ash gray rug and unzipped it. Inside was his phone, computer, and the chargers for both. That was it. No clothes or even a toothbrush. Even when Ryo was being helpful he was an infuriating bastard. Akira could think of about a thousand other things he needed from his apartment.

He did need something to wear, though, so he opened the drawers of the large mahogany dresser. There were a lot of things there, and they all seemed to be in Akira’s size. Nothing that he would ever have bought for himself. He looked at the tags with horror. Gucci, Mason Margiela, Tom Ford. A drawer full of Versace underwear. He closed that one quickly.

The room had its own bathroom. It was big and every surface was a gleaming white. There was a toothbrush on the counter, still in its packaging. He gaped at the shower – it was _huge_.

Tentatively, and checking for camcorders, Akira pulled off his underwear. He also noticed the small bandages on his arms. He pulled back the one on his elbow, expecting to find a mark or maybe still some bleeding. But there was nothing. The skin only had a small raised scar. He ripped off the rest of the band-aids, and it was all the same. Shaking his head, he stepped into the shower.

He regretted raising his voice. Now Ryo was going to be even more unbearable and Akira would never get any real answers. Obviously, Ryo was a very dangerous person. Mixed up in very dangerous business. But Akira couldn’t be scared of him. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to admit it to himself, but Ryo was kind of like his friend. An annoying, withholding, petulant friend. Who had guns and people under his command, it seemed.

Akira rummaged around the drawers for some time before finding something he could wear. Black joggers with something Russian on the tag and a long sleeved white shirt that was softer than cotton. He reluctantly took some of the underwear. It fit him upsettingly well.

Toweling off wet hair, he opened his computer. It was the Saturday before midterms week, and he couldn’t have been less prepared. He didn’t even know if he would be _allowed_ to go to school tomorrow. And, worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to. What if someone attacked him again? He doubted it would happen on a crowded campus in broad daylight, but then he hadn’t expected it to happen in his own apartment, either.

About an hour later, there was a knock on his door.

“Uh, come in?”

The door opened and Ryo took one step in, leaning against the frame. He had changed into a dark gray tracksuit and black velvet running shoes. His hair was dry now, shining immaculately.

“I’m sorry,” he said flatly.

“What?”

“I’m not used to dealing with emotional people.”

“I’m not—“

“I haven’t been a very good host so far,” he interrupted, looking Akira up and down. “I see you found clothes.”

“Yeah. I see you don’t buy anything normal people wear.”

“It suits you better, I think.”

Akira didn’t know what to respond to first; the almost-apology or the veiled criticism about his usual way of dressing.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ryo nodded slowly.

“You aren’t going to let me leave here, are you?”

“Not alone.”

“I can make this very difficult for you, you know.”

“I thought that was what you were doing already.”

Akira ignored him. “But I’ll comply. On one condition.”

Ryo frowned.

“You keep me alive – you keep my family alive, too. And I want to see them.”

Ryo seemed to mull that over, but after a moment his face softened.

“That’s several conditions. Fine.”

Akira hadn’t expected him to give in so easily. His heart soared when he realized he would get to see Miki and Taro again, before possibly dying. It made everything slightly less terrifying.

“Thank you,” he said. Ryo nodded and walked away, leaving the door open halfway. Akira opened the computer back up. He had a test in Philosophy Monday morning, and if he wanted a good grade he would have to cram all weekend.

The day passed by quickly. He could hear Ryo moving around and occasionally saw a flash of blonde hair when the other man passed by his door. It was really strange to be in the place Ryo lived. It was simultaneously beautiful and empty. There was nothing to indicate Ryo had any family or even hobbies.

He came out of his room around dinnertime to find that Ryo was gone. Akira was hesitant to knock on the bedroom door, but he didn’t think Ryo was in there, anyway. He tried to open the door next to the guest room, but it was locked. On a hunch, he tried Ryo’s door. Locked. He called Ryo’s name, but there was no answer. He was alone here. He went to the kitchen hoping to find something to eat.

To his surprise, there was a note stuck to the chrome refrigerator. He read the familiar scrawl.

_Call me if you need anything._

Call me. Akira had the number, of course, but he hadn’t saved it to a name. It felt too familiar to have Ryo in his contacts. He looked at the note again.

After eating, he went straight back to his room and shut the door. He had no idea exactly how much blood he had lost, but every now and then his head would swim and he would need to lie down. Eventually, the computer screen was too bright to even look at.

Akira rested his eyes.

It was a late morning for him on Sunday. Probably because of the lack of windows to alert him to the morning. The bed was also extremely comfortable, the sheets soft and warm. Ryo was gone, again, but there was a full mug of coffee sitting on the counter, untouched. Akira drank it down standing in the kitchen, unwilling to get it near any of the white, stainable surfaces.

The sun was setting the next time he left the bedroom. His notes swam in front of his exhausted eyes – he had studied all day, with nearly nothing to show for it. Philosophy was a waste of time, in his opinion.

He ate a microwave pasta, then went and looked at the flat screen. It was imposingly large, a long, black remote control sitting on the coffee table.

His short break from studying became drawn out. A thick white blanket hung over the back of the couch. He pulled it over himself, flipping to a movie channel and watching an American actress walk around a dark house. He followed the subtitles intently, pulling the blanket to his chin. She was apparently deaf. A neighbor pounded on the glass door, leaving bloody marks, and she couldn’t hear a thing.

A while later, a man stood outside her glass door, telling her he was going to break in. The actress cried fake tears and ran around dramatically. Akira usually wasn’t bothered by scary movies, but his breathing crescendoed over the following scene. The man in the mask was inside the house now, hunting the woman down.

Akira turned the television off, and the silence was almost worse.

There was an overpowering sensation of someone standing right behind him. He jumped up, bringing a hand to his neck. Of course there was no one there. So why was he freaking out?

He suddenly couldn’t stop replaying that last second in his apartment. The open door, the dawning realization of what was happening. The syringe in his neck. It all flashed in front of him like a broken projector. The open space of Ryo’s living room mocked him. He borderline ran to the guest room, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

He almost called the number. He really did. Instead, he sat in the corner of the room and put his head between his legs. _You’re an idiot,_ he told himself. Of course nothing would happen to him here. He was at the top of a skyscraper in an apartment that only Ryo could get into. The top of a skyscraper.

Alone.

And where the hell was Ryo, anyway? He was always down Akira’s throat with the blood tests and the snarky comments, and now that Akira could actually use his company, he was gone?

He didn’t know how long he sat in the corner. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he felt so panicked. Eventually, he crawled under the covers. The bed was really comfortable, and he figured if he was going to be trapped somewhere mid-panic, a penthouse suite over Tokyo wasn’t the worst place.

~~~~~

Akira sat up, heart pounding. He thought he might be imagining it, but, no, the wall was _definitely_ buzzing. He sat up, staring at his locked door. Footsteps padded past and he could see where shoes interrupted the light. The door across the hall opened and shut. Over his breathing, Akira could hear a shower start somewhere past the walls that separated them. He sighed in relief. Ryo.

It was also nearly five in the morning. Akira panicked for an entirely different reason: he had fallen asleep. In the middle of his stupid panic attack the night before, he had forgotten to study. He flicked on the light and stared down at his notes, willing the information into his memory.

With only four hours to go, he found himself dozing off. The bed was _too_ comfortable. He gathered his things and went into the kitchen. The bright white bulbs in the ceiling were harsh enough to wake him up.

That’s where Ryo found him. He came into the kitchen a while later, just past six. Wearing the same clothes Akira had seen him in yesterday.

“I thought you would be asleep,” he said quietly.

“I’ve slept enough.”

Ryo made coffee again. Akira glanced up at him surreptitiously. He looked tired. Shoulders hunched, hardly any shine to his hair.

After he went back to reviewing the principles of the Ancient Greeks, a mug of coffee was set in front of him. He looked up in surprise as Ryo left the kitchen.

Then it was quiet. Akira read. And read. At 8:30, Ryo reappeared, wearing different clothes. He peered over Akira’s shoulder.

“This is what you’ve been up all night doing?”

“Yes,” Akira said defensively. Ryo snatched a page off of the island without warning, turning to lean against the counter.

“Plato, Kant, Nietzsche…This is easy.”

Akira ground his teeth together and snatched the paper back.

“You could have just asked me for help.”

“Because you’re so good at answering questions?”

“Because I have a background in political theory, and that’s all philosophy is.”

“A background?” Akira looked at him. “You’re what, twenty?”

“Twenty five,” Ryo corrected.

Well, _that_ was surprising, frankly. He looked much younger.

“Where did you go to school?”

“Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?” Ryo evaded the question expertly, walking out of the room while doing something on his phone. To Akira’s frustration, he was absolutely right. He rushed to his room to find something to wear.

“What do you have against normal clothes?” He yelled out, looking for jeans.

“Bottom left,” came the reply. Akira looked, and it was true. There were seven different pairs of jeans that had no discernable difference whatsoever. He pulled one out at random and put them on. They fit perfectly. His options for a shirt seemed limited to turtlenecks or something that only a runway model would wear, and even then not outside of the runway. He kept the one he had.

Ryo was waiting for him in the living room. It occurred to Akira that he had seen the whole of the apartment, and there wasn’t a door that led out of it. Ryo flipped what looked like a light switch, and Akira could hear the wall whirring again. An elevator. That made sense.

As it rose to their level, Akira tried to ignore a growing sense of trepidation. By the time they stepped inside, he was kind of freaking out. He put his back to the wall and did his best to look normal.

It didn’t work. Ryo fixed curious blue eyes on him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“N-nothing.”

Ryo gave him an unbelieving look but didn’t press the issue. They arrived at the parking floor and the doors slid open. Akira didn’t remember it being such a large space. There were a lot of cars down here. A lot of places for people to hide.

Ryo sauntered out with his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel when Akira didn’t follow. He threw his hand out to stop the closing doors.

“What is it?” He snapped. Akira just shook his head, unable to explain the fear gripping his stomach. Ryo made a face.

“You’re going to be late,” He said impatiently. The door tried to shut again on his arm and Akira didn’t move a muscle.

“I can’t,” he blurted. “I can’t go through that again. They’ll kill me. Or worse.”

Ryo hesitated. The door hit him a third time, and he stepped back into the elevator.

“That’s not going to happen. I shouldn’t have left you alone before. It was an oversight.”

“You’re not even armed.” Akira looked at the fitted pants and jacket. Not that he condoned the use of weapons - it was just nice to know there was _one_ that wouldn't be aimed at him.

Ryo cocked his head. “I’m armed.”

“What if someone attacks us?”

“People don’t attack me, Akira, alright? So can we go now?” His finger hovered over the door open button. Akira nodded, following close behind Ryo out of the elevator. He was being dismissive, but Akira believed what he was saying. He remembered how Ryo had looked in that warehouse, and it gave him chills.

He pretended not to notice being side-eyed the entire drive to school. He was nervous about his test, and that anxiety was now coupled with the fact that being outside put a target on his back. Not to mention Ryo’s driving.

They were almost late, so Akira didn’t have time to dawdle. They walked across the grassy quad together, and it was worse than Akira could have imagined. There were so many _people_. It could be anyone, Akira thought. Anyone. He desperately wanted to look at the ground to avoid the gnawing fear, but that was even worse than constantly checking over his shoulder.

“I’ll be right here,” Ryo told him when they were at the right room. He couldn’t go in on a test day, so he was going to be waiting by the door. Leaving Akira to go in alone.

It went badly. Akira couldn’t get the sensation of being grabbed from behind out of his head, and every single person looked like a mercenary. It was torture. As soon as the teacher called time, he threw his bag on and half walked half ran from the hall.

Ryo was right there. Akira gave a shaky sigh.

“I can’t do this,” he said, walking toward the doors.

“I don’t understand,” Ryo somehow kept pace and looked graceful at the same time. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…can’t be outside. It’s too much.”

Ryo didn’t say anything, but a second later his hand touched Akira’s. Akira jerked his hand away.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to keep up appearances,” Ryo said. Akira’s heart pounded for a variety of reasons, but he knew that this was all just for show.

“You think we’re being watched?”

“Obviously.”

Akira really wished he hadn’t said that. Not that he hadn’t been able to put two and two together before….but he needed Ryo to be the optimistic one. God help him, but he allowed Ryo to wind their fingers together. It felt nice. 

“Who exactly is ‘they’?” Akira asked as they neared the car.

“What?”

“The people that took me. Do they have a name?”

“Yes.”

Akira waited, watching Ryo’s content expression as he walked.

“Well? What is it?”

“They’re called the Angels. Colloquially.”

Akira laughed in spite of himself. “Are you serious? The Angels and Devils? Those the most creative names you could come up with?”

Ryo’s expression didn’t change, “I didn’t make the names, Akira.”

“And who is Lucifer?”

“Keep your voice down."

“Is he the leader?” Akira whispered. “Have you met him?”

“What do you think?”

Akira resisted the urge to shove him.

~~~~~

Akira got through the rest of his tests fairly easily. His philosophy score was probably abysmal, but he could make it up with a near perfect score on the final. Maybe he would have to ask Ryo for help in the end.

Getting back to the loft was a blessing. Stepping into the white room, Akira felt nearly all of his tension drop from his shoulders. He was so tense all day, he had forgotten to ask Ryo to take him by his apartment for clothes.

He went to his room and dropped his backpack on the floor. As relieved as he was to be out of the public, he couldn’t ignore his test results. They would be back any day now, and he knew it would be horrible. He had maybe even failed. Thinking about it would only make things worse, so he distracted himself with a shower.

The many knobs and switches took him a while to figure out again, but once he did it was the best shower he had ever taken. The jet was overhead instead of mounted on the wall, and the water pressure was reassuring. He stood there and found himself thinking of Ryo, and how despite every instinct screaming at him to get away from the situation, he trusted him. He had to, because without Ryo, Akira had no protection.

More digging through the wardrobe unearthed a set of cotton shirts and sweatpants. Akira dawdled in his room for as long as possible, glancing at his backpack and trying not to freak out.

Ryo was slouched on the couch, nursing a glass of red wine and watching financial news. Akira looked at him, and then looked to the kitchen, unsure of what to do. What was normal when you were being forced to live with a petulant mob boss? He sat on the end of the couch, feigning interest in the news. Dark circles hung under Ryo’s eyes. Akira couldn’t guess when the other man had last slept.

“Akira,” Ryo said, still staring at the television. “How would you feel about going to see your family this weekend?”

Akira sat forward. “This weekend?” He felt a spark of excitement and disbelief. Ryo nodded, looking at his glass.

“That would be great.” Miki had a meet this weekend, and Akira would love to go and watch. “When would we leave?”

“Thursday afternoon.”

So soon. That was good, Akira thought. He could die at any time. The hunger pains still returned every couple of days, and god knows what else was going on inside his body.

“Are…do we have to take your car?” The thought of showing up to the house with Ryo and the ridiculous car in tow would raise a lot of questions.

“Oh. That.” Ryo took a sip. “I’m not going.”

Akira deflated. “What? You’re sending me out alone?” The thought was equally gratifying and horrific.

“I’m sending someone else with you. A friend.”

“You have friends?”

Ryo ignored him.

“Who is it?”

He got a strange look on his face – amusement? “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“And there’s no chance I can just drive myself?”

Ryo didn’t acknowledge him.

“Why can’t you go?”

“Now is not a good time for me to leave the city.”

Akira thought about that. He had been worried about explaining Ryo’s presence to his family, but now there was going to be a stranger there to make things even more awkward. And if this person didn’t look as young as Akira, it would be much harder to convince his family they were just classmates.

The rest of the week passed without event. Ryo seemed to go out all night, only to return to take Akira to school. He continued to look more ragged and tired than Akira had ever seen him. He mostly kept to his room when Ryo was there. He thought Ryo was opening up to him before, but the other man became more quiet and withdrawn, barely even answering Akira’s direct questions. Akira buzzed with excitement after class on Thursday, hastily packing a bag. Midterms were completely over, and he had decided to not look at the grades until after his weekend at home.

He had already called Miki and told her he was coming home. She was more than excited. He wondered how happy she would be when she saw him in person. He examined himself in the mirror, taking his shirt off to poke at the strange muscle. He almost looked like he had in high school, when he was on the track team and in top shape.

He hadn’t been working out or anything since the injection, but everything seemed to be staying the same. He heard the light whirring sound that meant the elevator was coming up, but Ryo was already here. Nervous, he threw on a shirt and stood by the bedroom door, listening. He thought he heard a woman’s voice, and then he heard Ryo _laugh._

He paced around his room for a few minutes, then opened the door as quietly as possible, peeking toward the living room. He could just see Ryo sitting on the couch, facing the television. There was a woman after all, sitting right next to him. A long auburn braid swung from high on her head.

“…you can handle it for the next few days.”

“If you can do it, I can do it,” the woman said. She had a deep voice. “Heard anything yet?”

Ryo sipped his wine. “No. I was thinking we would have about a week. Maybe two. Traces didn’t last long in the bloodstream. Maybe in the spinal fluid, which they didn’t get a chance to take.”

“And you’re letting him go? That’s not like you.”

Ryo said something quietly, and the girl turned to look at him, brows furrowed. She opened her mouth to say something else, but saw Akira out of the corner of her eye. He shifted guiltily in the doorway as her face broke out into a smile.

“There’s Prince Charming.” She turned her whole body around, pulling her knees up to the couch. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Akira doubted that. He walked toward them.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, _likewise_ ,” she drawled, turning again and crossing her legs as he sat on the opposite side of the L. “Asuka, you didn’t tell me he was so handsome.” She nudged Ryo with her shoulder and Akira frowned. They looked quite a pair, Akira had to admit. Ryo was casual elegance in a white cotton shirt and high-waisted slacks. The woman wore a leather jacket over a black bustier and black leggings. Combat boots were laced up to her knees. She looked young, despite the black lining around her eyes and red lipstick. Maybe even younger than Ryo. She was pretty, Akira thought with a pang of something painful in his stomach.

“So…how do you know each other?”

They both looked at him for a beat before the woman burst into laughter. She clutched her stomach and fell back onto Ryo’s shoulder. A small smile lifted at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re so _cute_!” She said, righting herself. “We’re gonna have a great time. Are you ready?”

Akira nodded, feeling entirely out of his league.

“Excellent.” She clapped her hands and stood up. “Say your goodbyes, Rycchan. I might not bring him back.” She winked at Akira and flounced off to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

“That’s your friend?”

Ryo nodded.

“She seems nice.” The words, once out of his mouth, sounded almost accusatory.

“She is,” Ryo agreed, keeping the slight smile.

They sat in silence for a brief second before Ryo cleared his throat. He looked at the television.

“Will you do me a favor this weekend?”

“What? Um, sure.” Akira shifted. Things had been getting a little better, but Ryo stringing an entire sentence together was still shocking.

“Call me if you need anything. Even something as trivial as…a panic attack.”

Akira’s heart plummeted. How had he… oh.

“You’re still watching me?" He said, shrill. "There are cameras in there?”

Ryo nodded guiltlessly. Akira flushed, angry. The thought of Ryo seeing him like that – irrational, scared – was humiliating.

“Akira?” Ryo was looking at him now.

“Yeah. Sure.”

In a moment of divine intervention, the woman bobbed back into view, holding a soda and saving Akira from having to look at Ryo.

“Jesus, I was joking about not bringing him back. No need for the…” she took in Akira’s stiff posture and sipped her soda loudly, “…mood.”

Ryo didn’t acknowledge her – his eyes were boring holes into the side of Akira’s face, as intense as his posture was relaxed.

“We should go,” Akira stuttered, standing up. The woman shrugged and flipped the elevator switch as he went to get his things. Akira couldn’t ignore how familiar she was with everything. Friend, indeed. He sidled in to the elevator, as far away from her as the small space would allow.

Her finger hit the _door open_ button and she gave Akira a scandalized look.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

He was caught off guard, and it took him a moment to gather words.

"Um, bye, Ryo.”

Ryo sat forward on the couch, giving an awkward wave. It was the first awkward thing Akira had ever seen him do – the man looked good even when he was _shot._ The door shut on Ryo’s face, looking like it was working hard to fight a smile.

The woman looked at him, one eyebrow arched.

“You guys are weird.”

Akira disagreed. It was hard to do anything normally when someone was sitting there watching and being aggressively vocal about her opinions. He decided that that word fit this woman perfectly. Aggressive. Even just standing in the elevator as it descended, she had her arms crossed and her foot tapped against the floor. Her long ponytail swayed, glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

She didn’t speak again until they were in the car. It was the polar opposite of Ryo’s; a bright yellow all-terrain Jeep with removable doors. The doors were currently on, but it was still a flashier vehicle than Ryo’s, which was ostentatious but designed for stealth. Akira climbed into the passenger seat.

He was just starting to get acquainted to the silence when she spoke. She put on large black sunglasses as they pulled into the sunny street.

“He must like you a lot.”

“What do you mean?” What could she have possibly seen in their short interaction to make her think Ryo _liked_ Akira?

“He lets you call him ‘Ryo.’ I’m the only one who calls him that, and only when he’s in a good mood.”

Akira didn’t think it was that special. And Ryo had never told him to call him anything else. The skyscraper shrunk behind them as the woman sped down the street.

“I didn’t get your name,” he realized, shamed at his own impoliteness.

“Miki.”

Akira’s eyes widened. That was almost _too_ strange of a coincidence. How had Ryo never thought to mention that?

“And I already know your name. Fudo, Fudo, Fudo. It’s all everyone’s been talking about.”

“Why would people talk about me?”

“Because you’ve got Asuka dick-whipped. _Asuka_. The ice prince!”

Akira blanched. “That’s not – What? It’s not -!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know the truth. Only a few of us knew the drug existed in the first place. But when the boss calls in all the forces to rescue some rando from the Angels, people have questions.”

“People really think that we – that he and I –?”

“You should have seen him when he found out you were missing. Nobody questioned things after that.”

Curiosity sparked in Akira’s chest. Ryo had been worried about the drug, and he knew that. But he still felt himself blushing. So all those people there when Ryo saved him thought…

“But you know how it really is?”

She smirked. “Do I?”

He didn’t know what that meant, and they should really just change the subject.

“Is Ryo the boss?”

Her face darkened beneath the glasses. They pulled onto the freeway, wind blowing her ponytail sideways.

“No.”

“Oh.” He guessed that was a relief. “Then why would the boss want to rescue me?”

She shrugged, and the withholding attitude was at least something he was used to. They rode in silence for a long while.

“Have you known him for a long time?” 

“Not long.”

“You seem close.”

“Don’t worry, Fudo, I’m not stealing your man. My interests lie elsewhere,” she grinned at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

About a half an hour later, Akira decided to try Miki with the same line of questioning Ryo had been evading for weeks.

“What is it that you do?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“I really do.”

“Asuka would kill me if I said anything.”

“So you think it’s fair that I’m trapped in that apartment forever living at his beck and call and not allowed to know _anything?”_

“Do you think it’s fair to ask about things I’ve been _specifically_ instructed not to talk about? Do you know how much I like to talk?”

"I can guess.” Akira slouched into the seat. “He specifically told you not to?”

“Very specifically. With _facial expressions._ ”

“I didn’t know he could do those.”

She laughed.

“So where am I sleeping for the next two nights?”

Shit. He had completely forgotten to be worried about that. What was his family going to say about Miki? He knew what they would assume - they would think she was his girlfriend. They would think he was dating someone with the same name as his _sister._ Gross. He would say she was a classmate, and they had become close friends. That might work. He continued to freak out about it all the way to the Makimura’s neighborhood. The rational part of him was more than excited to be home, and the familiar buildings and streets felt like home.

He still hadn’t figured out what to say by the time they parked in front of the house. There was a quick movement in one of the second-story windows. Akira jumped out of the car and got his bag from the back. Miki followed, sauntering around the car to lean against it.

“Nice place.”

“ _Akira!”_ Came a shout. The front door had been thrown open, and a flash of orange and yellow darted out to grab Akira around the waist.

“Taro!” Akira hugged him tight, dropping to his knees. Taro pulled away. He had grown a few inches since the summer, and his brown hair flopped into his eyes. His grin faded a little as he looked up at Akira.

“Why do you look different?”

Akira was blindsided by the question – he had almost forgotten. He opened his mouth to explain when Taro looked at Miki.

“Do you have a _girlfriend?”_

Miki grinned, giving the kid a small wave.

“No!” Akira said. “She’s a friend of mine. Her name is…her name is Miko.”

“Miko,” Taro echoed. Miki’s smile dropped and she pulled down her sunglasses to glare at Akira.

“Akira!” Real Miki shut the door behind her, running with bare feet across the yard. She hugged him tightly.

“Akira,” she gripped his biceps, holding him at arm’s length. Her eyes mimicked Taro’s, growing wide. “What happened to you?”

“I’ve…been working out.” The lie rolled off his tongue with much less grace than he had hoped. Miki’s eyebrows drew together.

“You’ve been working out.”

“Yeah, I…I’ve been running again.”

“You’ve been _running?_ Akira, you haven’t run since you broke your leg.”

She was right. Akira rubbed the back of his neck, ready for his lie to fall apart. Miki, however, just threw her arms around him again.

“That makes me so happy, Akira.”

Other Miki raised her eyebrows in a disbelieving expression, shaking her head slowly. She smiled toothily when Miki finally noticed her.

“Oh! Hello.”

“Hi,” Miki said in her low voice. She held a hand out.

“Akira didn’t tell us he was bringing a friend. I’m Miki,” she shook other Miki’s hand.

Miki gave her a pained smile. “Miko.”

“Nice to meet you, Miko.” 

There was a beat of awkward silence before Miki clapped her hands together.

“Alright. Well, Mom and Dad are at work right now. I’ll make lunch!” She pulled Akira by his arm inside the house. Miki – Miko – and Taro followed.

Akira helped his adopted sister set the table for four and they caught up while she made lunch.

“So how do you two know each other?”

“We met at school. I was Akira’s tutor,” Miko answered from her seat at the table, giving Akira a wink. “He’s really bad at English.”

“You didn’t tell me you were learning English,” Miki said, looking a little crestfallen.

Akira sighed. “Yep. I’m pretty bad at it.”

“Say something in English,” Taro said, looking up from his Nintendo.

“What?”

“Say something you’ve learned. We’re doing their numbers in school right now.”

Akira struggled to remember literally anything that he’d learned in school. All English failed him. Miko rolled her eyes at his struggle.

“Like I said, he’s terrible.”

“Then you say something.”

Miko raised her eyebrows at Taro’s commanding tone, and he had the good grace to look ashamed.

“Come on, I wanna learn, too!”

Miko hesitated for a brief second before saying something in fluent English. Akira caught the word for _school_ and something that might have been _stupid._

Taro laughed and tried to repeat what she had said.

“That’s good,” she told him.

~~~~~

Miki set Miko up in her bedroom, on the floor, and Akira tried to reconcile with his current situation. Being tied up in all of Ryo’s chaos was weird enough in the city; but being back here, at home, made it all that much more out of place. He dropped his bag on the floor of his bedroom. It smelled like detergent and stale air. Miki and Miko’s voices drifted through the adjacent wall, and Akira thought they were getting along suspiciously well.

Leo and Akiko got home soon after that, hugging Akira warmly but glancing at each other with wide eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. Akiko smiled at his “running” story, but Leo continued to watch him with concerned speculation. Regardless of the changes, Akira felt some of the knot in his chest loosen. He was home, and home hadn’t changed. Even if he had.

He turned down his bedsheets, noticing they had been recently washed. There was a noise behind him.

“All good?” Other Miki leaned against the door in a t-shirt and some of the shortest pajama shorts Akira had ever seen. Without waiting for an answer, she walked into the room, looking around. He let her do it, sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled out his arm, pressed her fingers against his wrist firmly. She counted the beats silently to herself, and it struck him that she was actually really, _really_ pretty. The leather jacket was gone, and without the boots she was shorter than Akira by a few inches.

“I’m supposed to take your blood, hair, all that,” she pulled away, “but you look healthy to me.”

“I feel healthy,” he said. It was true. He had never felt so healthy in his life. There was something else, too, something he wasn’t so sure how to define. He looked at the spot on his wrist where her fingers had been, and for some reason remembered Ryo, and how he had patched Akira up after rescuing him.

Miko cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down.

“I’ll check up on you later. Night, Fudo.”

“Goodnight, Miko.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said on her way out. Akira set his alarm for the track meet and looked out through the open window. The street was lit sparingly by bright white lights, and he found himself more and more wary of the shadows. A touch of the panic returned, and he shut his window a little too hard. Then he thought about Ryo’s request to call him if anything like this happened.

It was too pathetic. He reminded himself that Ryo wasn’t really his friend; he just had an invested interest in Akira’s safety. That’s why Miko was here. Even if she seemed friendly, she wasn’t his friend. He shifted on the bed, springs creaking familiarly under his weight, feeling too exposed to sleep. For once, he allowed himself to miss the bare comfort of the loft. His room here didn’t have a lock, but it wasn’t him he was worried about.

When he sat up again, the clock read midnight. Everyone was sure to be asleep by now. Akira crept through the dark hallway. Miki’s door was open. Brown hair splayed across the pillow, and the blankets rose and fell softly with her breath. The Makimura’s had their door shut, but it was quiet inside. He crept down the stairs and saw the television flickering.

Taro was passed out on the couch, a remote in one hand and drool seeping onto the pillow beneath him. An old rerun of a kid’s show flashed in the dark house, volume muted. Akira watched him for a moment, dread and guilt pooling in his stomach. If anything happened to any of them, he didn’t know what he would do. He should have thought this through before coming.

The front door was locked, knob moving slightly as he turned it experimentally. Not that it couldn’t be kicked in…

“Relax, guinea pig,” came a murmur from the shadows. Akira jumped, hand flying to his throat. Now that his eyes had adjusted from looking at the television, he could see the outline of someone sitting at the kitchen table, reclining their feet on the table top.

“ _Miko?_ ” Akira whispered into the darkness. A second later, a metal spoon was whipped in the general direction of his stomach. It clattered noisily to the ground.

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she hissed.

“Sorry,” he grunted. “What are you doing down here?”

“The same thing you are, only I’m doing a better job.” She took in his heaving breaths; the hand still clutched to his throat. “Seriously, Fudo. Calm down.”

“You’re watching the door?”

She sighed. “What was your plan, anyway? What would you do if someone actually broke in?”

Akira crossed his arms, “Sacrifice myself.”

Her laughter chimed across the silent room. “That whole thing really took a toll on you, huh?”

“What thing?”

“Being nabbed by the Angels.”

“No.” He lowered his hands and stepped toward the dark kitchen.

“Asuka told me about the panic attacks.”

“He- what?”

“I can see the wheels turning in your head. You didn’t think your room was bugged?”

Akira hesitated, then sat across from her as quietly as possible.

“I guess I did,” he sighed

“Well, it’s all for the best.”

“I wish I wasn’t a part of this,” Akira murmured. Miko’s ponytail swayed in the faint light. There was a long silence between them, broken only by Akira’s breathing.

“I didn’t want it, at first.”

He watched her dark form, listening.

“I told Asuka I … well, that’s not the point. It took a while, but he finally made me understand what the alternative is to this life.”

“And what’s that?”

“Death.”

Akira shuddered.

“It’s not as harsh as it sounds, usually. He took me under his wing for a while, and once the paychecks started rolling in, I really didn’t care about right and wrong.”

It was too morbid to be comforting. Akira shifted in his seat.

“I just don’t know what it is I’m getting into.”

Miko’s nails drilled against the tabletop and she leaned forward, feet dropping to the floor.

“That’s the part I don’t understand. Because _you,_ Fudo, are not _in_. You aren’t a part of this in the way that matters. But you aren’t out, either. The boss wants to keep you close because of the drug, but I’m not sure that’s going to last. Not without being initiated.”

Akira’s heart pounded. “Initiated?”

Miko tapped her foot, “As soon as you join you get put through a…series of tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

The silhouette of her head looked down. “The kind of tests not everyone passes.”

“Well, what happens when you fail?”

She didn’t answer.

“What – what if I don’t want to join?”

She shrugged, all of the tension falling from her soldiers.

“Either way, they leave their mark.” She pulled back her shirt sleeve to the elbow, shining her phone flashlight. There, on the soft skin below her elbow, was a scar unlike any Akira had ever seen. It was as though someone had drug a knife through her skin in jagged, creeping lines. It was a good several shades lighter than her skin, glowing brilliantly in the harsh light. He thought it looked like a spider.


	4. Chapter Four

Akira tossed and turned all night, dreaming of giant spiders and creeping shadows. He groggily dressed himself and went downstairs when the sun was up. Akiko was making breakfast, already dressed. He kissed her good morning and offered to help. She made him sit and served tea.

“Tell me about school, Akira. How are your classes going?”

“They’re alright,” he lied.

“Meet anyone special?”

He thought of Ryo, and shook his head.

The rest of the family came downstairs shortly, including a tousled Miko, who gave a theatrical yawn and wink in his direction.

“Miko said she would drive me to the school for warmups,” Miki said, nudging Akira with her arm. “Come with us.”

“Sure.” He followed them outside and into the car. He had missed the way the morning sun rose over the neighborhood.

The two Miki’s talked like they had been friends for years. Akira wondered how much of it was an act on Miko’s part and it made his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine choosing to live a life where everything you did was a lie.

It was a cool, quiet morning. The sun was out but not yet at its peak, and birds chirped lazily from the trees. There wasn’t much of a breeze, either. Perfect running weather. He looked at the high school as they drove around the back of it. Everything had been so easy back then. He had had Miki by his side, and the track team, and no one had tried to kill him – except perhaps his coach.

Figures clad in green and white stretched and lounged in the middle of the field. The opposing teams hadn’t arrived yet.

“Do you miss it?” Miki asked, reading his mind. “Coach talks about you all the time. No one’s beat your state record from three years ago. Well,” she bit her lip, “I have, but only in practice.”

He gasped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know! I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s only practice.”

“It definitely matters.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be humble for my sake.”

  
She broke into a mischievous smile, twisting around in her seat.

“Let’s race!”

Akira’s smile dropped. “Miki, I don’t –”

“Come on, you said you were running again! Please, Akira, please? Like we used to?” She clasped her hands together in a childish display.

He hesitated, stuck in his lie. Miko turned off the ignition and quietly got out of the car. Akira did the same. He really hadn’t been running since the leg injury. It hurt too much, and ACL’s tended to re-tear. But it had been almost three years… surely he could survive one lap around the track?

“Okay, let’s do it,” he said. He was wearing running shoes, so screw it.

They left Miko on the sidelines, where she caught the attention of a few of the male track members. Miki took him to the grass, introducing him to those newer to the team. Those who remembered him greeted him warmly. It was nice to have so much social interaction – his life in the city had been very lonely until recently. He stretched, expecting a lot of resistance after such a long time. But his fingers touched his toes easily, and nothing burned or cramped.

He tried to distract her with conversation, but she ended up dragging him to the starting line anyway. He shifted his feet nervously as they both crouched over the tape. Miki’s friend called out from the side.

“Three…two…one…GO!”

He took off, already a pace behind Miki. It was exhilarating, it was freeing, it was everything he remembered. He rounded the second lap, forgetting all the anxiety of the past month. Ryo, Miko, Silene, all of it was whisked away by the wind. When the pain in his leg didn’t return, he pushed himself further. The first lap went too quickly, so he went for a second.

He crossed the finish line at a jog, then doubled over with exertion. 

“Akira, what the hell was that?” Miki said in a strained voice as she finished several seconds behind him.

“What do you mean?”

“That was so _fast_. I only got one lap in.”

There was a flutter of unrest in the stands. They had started to fill in, and people were staring. The other teams, too, had arrived, and were standing in a group on the other side of the track, talking amongst themselves. Miko was talking on the phone, and he could feel her eyes through her glasses. Akira stood up straight, suddenly conscious of his movements.

“That’s impossible,” he said quietly. Miki just looked at him, clearly freaked out.

“I-it was probably the tea your mom gave me. I haven’t had caffeine in weeks.”

Akira wanted nothing more than to get off the field. His terrible lie fell flat between the two of them .

“You’ll do fine,” he told her. “I’ll be watching!”

He ignored the looks he was getting from the onlookers as he made his hasty exit from the field. Sometime in the previous three seconds, Miko had disappeared. He looked around for her, slightly worried. But Miki’s parents called his name from where they had just sat down in the front. Taro handed him a container of fries.

Akiko asked about Miko, and Akira just shrugged.

“I think she took a call.”

Other spectators were still looking at him. He made himself as small as possible and nervously ate a fry.

The starting whistle blew. Akira sat forward in his seat as the runners took off. Miki kept third place for the first lap, clearly pacing herself. The stands had filled up, and the air was tense with excitement.

“Taro, pay attention,” Akiko chastised, nudging her son’s shoulder. He looked up from his game for exactly three seconds before losing interest. She and Leo were watching with parental excitement, but Akira was _watching._ The way her feet hit the pavement, the way she was angling them as they rounded the first bend, her slow starting pace; Akira took it all in.He knew that the girl in fourth place was also pacing herself, and that she may even be faster than Miki when they hit the third lap. He could see the slight unevenness of first place’s step. An old injury – ACL maybe. He remembered how it felt to be out there, racing against his peers. They had made it all the way to nationals his last year of high school. That’s where he had set the record.

His parents hadn’t been there to watch, working in Canada at the time, but they were proud. He had the opportunity to go pro, and offers from three different schools– and then he had broken his leg. He had felt a twinge while stretching before a simple practice one morning, but ignored it. Miki’s panicked yells for help when he collapsed mid-lap were hard to forget. All that opportunity, lost. And his parents had been so disappointed. They hadn’t even come home for his birthday that year. And yet… and yet he had just run faster than Miki. With no pain.

When he shook himself out of his reverie, the runners were rounding the last lap. Miki had pulled into first place with ease. The Makimura’s cheered. Akira balled his fists and leaned even further forward. It was neck in neck, with the girl in second place one step behind. In a burst of speed, Miki bolted ahead of her, farther and farther until there was too much room to doubt who would win. Akira and Leo both jumped up to cheer. She crossed the line, pumping her fists. The announcer read out the results – four minutes twenty seconds. She had beaten Akira’s record by five seconds. The crowd went nuts.

In the interlude between the women’s race and the men’s race, Miki ran up to meet them.

“I did it, Akira!” She hugged him tightly, moving down the line of her family.

“You’re gonna get scouted for sure,” Leo told her.

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really.”

She grinned up at him. Her coach called for her, and she gave Akira one last bear hug before running off. He watched her go, and the back of his neck prickled. A young-ish kid a few stands above was filming him with his phone. He jumped up, cheeks flushing.

“Akira?” Akiko put a hand on his arm.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the phone camera and descending the steps. He walked toward the concessions, taking a right toward the bathrooms. He nearly ran headfirst into Miko, who grabbed his arm.

“Fudo, we gotta go.”

He blinked. “Go where?”

“Back to the city.” 

“What? We – we just got here,” he argued, forgetting the boy with the phone instantly. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“I really don’t have time to argue. We're going.”

He stammered, resisting her grip, “Miko – _no._ I can’t leave now.”

“Are you gonna get in the car or am I gonna have to make you?” She cocked her hip to the side like an exasperated mother.

Akira’s mouth hung open, and he looked back toward the track.

“Let me say goodbye.”

He ran back to the stands without waiting for an answer.

“Leo, Akiko, I’m so sorry,” he explained, “Miko has a family emergency in the city and we have to go.”

“Okay,” Akiko said, unsure. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Nodding, he avoided her eyes.

“Visit us soon, okay Akira?” Leo stood up to hug him.

“Tell Miki I had to go – I’ll call her later.”

Leo said he would, and it was clear he knew something was up.

“Bye, Taro,” he ruffled the kid’s hair before bounding back towards the parking lot.

He looked around for Miko, feeling slightly panicked. Sure, he wanted to stay, but now there was some sort of element of danger. Tires squealed, and a yellow Jeep slid up to the gate. Without waiting for him to buckle, she started driving.

“What happened?”

“Rycchan wants you back.”

“I’m not a piece of fucking property,” he snapped, “Tell me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises? I think I like it when you boss me around.”

“Stop it,” he gripped the handle as she swung a wide turn out of the school parking lot. She heaved a sigh.

“Your little stunt just ended up online.”

Stunt…someone caught him running on video? He didn’t see why that was so crazy, unless Miki _wasn’t_ exaggerating, and he really was too fast to be normal. And if a video of him doing something abnormal made it online…

“You think those people will see it. The Angels.”

“It’s possible,” she said shortly.

He slumped against the seat, feeling the phantom pain in his neck. He had been kidnapped, drugged, had his blood taken to the point of passing out, and all that was _before_ they knew he had the drug in his system.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Miko said, misinterpreting his silence. “I’m just following orders.”

He said nothing. The ride went by slowly. He hated the drive to the city, it depressed him every time he had to take it alone. Seeing the lush, green, natural beauty of his home fade into gray buildings and bright advertisements was depressing. It was worse, now, because he wasn’t sure when he would return.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. His heart dropped when he saw Miki’s face, and when he answered he had to hold the phone away to save himself from the high-pitched yelling.

“… _without saying goodbye?_ ” Was all he made out.

“I’m sorry, really,” he looked at his feet, “Miko had to go right away.”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t it wait?”

“Give it to me,” Miko held out a hand. Reluctantly, he handed over his phone.

“Miki-chan!” Miko’s entire demeanor changed, turning back to peppy-schoolgirl. “I’m so sorry, but I had to go back to the city. My _oba-san_ in the hospital. Yes. Yes, of course. Absolutely!”

She hung up the call, handing the phone back over.

“Using your grandmother as an excuse?” He said judgementally.

“Well, my grandmother is dead, so I doubt she’ll mind.”

“Miko,” he said seriously. “That’s awful.”

“I know.”

The silver skyscraper seemed less marvelous and more like a prison when they drove up to it. Miko typed a number into the keypad and entered the parking garage beneath the building. She watched him as the elevator ascended.

“If it helps, I had a good time.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You shouldn’t be mad at Ryo.”

“I’m not.” In fact, he didn’t know what he felt.

She rolled her eyes. When Akira stepped into the apartment, she didn’t follow.

“Bye, Fudo,” she smiled weakly. The smile dropped as the doors shut on themselves, leaving Akira to stare at how seamlessly they blended with the white wall. There was a noise behind him.

Ryo stood outside his bedroom door, wearing oversized clothes and no shoes. He looked well rested, which for some reason annoyed Akira. He waited for Ryo to say something, but he didn’t. Annoyed, he let his duffel bag drop to the ground with a muffled _thunk._

“Well, here I am.”

Ryo sighed in the same way Miko had, once again making Akira feel like _he_ was the insensible one.

“You’re upset,” he said dryly. Akira clenched his fists.

“I – yeah, I’m upset, _Rycchan._ ” Ryo bristled at the nickname. “You tell me I can go visit my family, then expect me to come right back at your beck and call? I barely even got to see them.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryo said, with only the barest hint of sincerity. He walked toward Akira, around the couch, and clicked on the television. On the screen was a shaky handheld video of Akira at the track that morning. Forgetting his anger, he stepped forward. He watched himself sprint so fast around the track he was almost a blur. Now he understood everyone’s reactions. It wasn’t human. “But you weren’t exactly inconspicuous today,” Ryo continued. “The Angels will see this. Everyone that had an invested interest in the drug will see it. If they didn’t suspect me of using it before, they will now.”

A horrible thought entered Akira’s head.

“What about my family? Are they in danger?”

“No.”

"How do you know?”

“I have people protecting them.”

“What if it’s not enough?”

Ryo fixed him with an intense look.

“They will be safe, Akira. I promise you that.”

Akira took a furious step forward, shortening the distance between them. “And I’m just supposed to take your word for it? A promise from you isn’t worth _shit_ when you’ve got me locked up here!” His voiced had reached a yell, which wasn’t like him at all. And yet the anger continued to burn away at his stomach. He felt sick.

“You are misplacing your anger,” Ryo said, very quietly. The angrier Akira got, the calmer Ryo seemed to be. It was infuriating.

“And who should I be angry at? You’re the only person I’m allowed to talk to. It’s not like I can go take a drive to calm down, or go home for a weekend – I’m _stuck_ here with _you._ ”

Ryo pointed to the elevator doors. “Then go. I really won't stop you. If you want to leave, why don’t you just do it?”

Akira struggled with that, breathing hard. Why didn’t he? He thought about his apartment, where he had been attacked once already. And the Makimura’s, who were now under surveillance because he had put them in danger. He had known that it could happen, and he had gone home anyway.

“Because I have nowhere to go.” His voice broke. Ryo didn’t look away. Akira took a moment to hate the man standing in front of him for making him admit it. In a way, Ryo was all he had.

“So what happens now?” He asked, after composing himself.

Ryo stared at the television screen, over Akira’s shoulder, where the video was playing on loop.

“What you did today was…impressive.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He didn’t want to turn and see himself in that video. It made him sick. Ryo spoke a slow determination, like someone would talk to a spooked horse to calm it down.

“I would like to see what other things you can do.”

Those blue eyes were so deceiving. Underneath the wide eyed beauty, he was a mastermind. He had just gotten Akira to admit – _out loud_ – that he had nowhere else to go and no one else to rely on. And now he was proposing the very thing Akira really wanted. He wanted to run, to be useful. Maybe even train, learn how to protect himself. Out there, on the track, he had felt more like himself than he had in a very long time. He wanted it very badly, and somehow Ryo knew that.

“Fine.”

Ryo seemed like he was going to say something. He reached a hand out, like he was going to touch Akira on the arm, but stopped. It was odd, but that made Akira feel worse. He didn’t need to be pitied like this.

Even worse, he felt a tug in the back of his throat. Not this again. He shoved past Ryo and shut his bedroom door, sliding down to the floor and bringing his knees to his chest. For the first time in a while, Akira let himself cry.

~~~~~

He stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage very early the next morning, blinking at the sleek black SUV. Ryo said that Miko would pick them up, but the Jeep was nowhere in sight. He looked at Ryo questioningly, but the back door of the car was thrown open, effectively answering his question.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon, Fudo,” Miko slid over and allowed him into the car. It was black leather on the inside, and smelled brand new. There was a man in the driver’s seat Akira thought he had seen that day in the warehouse, but he couldn’t be sure. He had light brown, curly hair and a diamond stud in one ear. Ryo sat in the front, yellow hair stark against his deep gray overcoat.

“Otsuka,” was all he said, and the driver hit the gas. They sped through the garage and out into the street. Akira wondered what there was to do in the small town just outside the city. He had never been there before.

Akira was starting to feel underdressed around these people. Miko had her hair down, with a thick braid holding it back like a crown. It was curly and dark. She wore loose fitting gray slacks with a black sweater and shoes that had too many straps for Akira to count. The man driving wore a black blazer with a plain white shirt underneath, but it looked expensive. Ryo, well, it just didn’t need to be said. They all looked like the sort of people you saw in magazines – the height of youth street fashion. He definitely didn’t belong.

Then he thought of the smug look on Ryo’s face when Akira finally gave in to the designer labels in the guest room, and decided jeans weren’t so bad.

“Sorry if the car’s not going fast enough for you, Flash. How about you get out now and race us?” Miko smirked at him.

“Kuroda,” Ryo said. It sounded like a warning.

“Joking, joking,” she held her hands up in mock surrender. “Someone’s got to around here.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” muttered the driver. She reached forward to smack him on the side of the head.

“No one asked you, Koda.” She sat back and crossed her arms, looking at Akira. “Let’s just hope you can do it again.”

Otsuka was as small as Akira had heard. They passed suburb after suburb, well-kept yards with children playing outside. They drove until they were on the outskirts, where the houses weren’t as nice and there were less and less people in the streets. The car pulled up to a derelict building featuring many broken windows and graffiti. Ryo and Koda got out first, opening the back doors.

He climbed out, looking around. Ryo led them to a metal door, opening to reveal a well-lit staircase. Akira stopped. This was too much, too familiar. His brain short-circuited, and he just _didn’t_ want to go down those steps, even though he knew he was being silly. Ryo had stepped down already, and turned when he noticed Akira’s hesitation.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, holding out a black gloved hand. Akira stared at it for a moment too long.

“Oh, _thank you,_ ” Miko swept past Akira and took the hand without hesitation. “These heels are killer on stairs.” She looked back to stick her tongue out at Akira.

Akira followed a few paces behind them, watching Miko’s hand in Ryo’s. Koda shut the metal door with a bang, and he suppressed a shiver. They went down what felt like a hundred steps, even though it was probably only twenty or thirty. At the end was another door.

He blinked in the sudden bright light. They had left the brick tunnel and entered a hallway that was completely different than the building above. It had obviously been added much more recently. The walls were a light gray, and the floor was a white linoleum. There were three rooms off of the one they had just entered. One looked like a small kitchen, the other door was closed. Directly in front of them was a set of double doors, also closed.

“It’s quiet,” Koda said. His voice echoed slightly, as if to prove his point. Ryo nodded.

“I had the place cleared out for the day. Just us and the detail.”

Miko opened one of the double doors, revealing a large room. It wasa gym. A _big_ one. The outside of the room was a track lined with white. There was weightlifting equipment and various machinery in the center. All state-of-the-art. It smelled of chalk and sweat. The room had a sense of being used and used often, but there was no one there. The way the old school gym was in the mornings.

“What is this place?” He asked. Miko looked at Ryo, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

“It’s our training facility.”

“I want to see how fast you can run,” Ryo said, pulling off his gloves. “Then we can move on to other things. There are clothes for you in there,” he pointed to a door marked _men,_ which Akira hadn’t noticed _._ He nodded and went in.

It was a shower room, with lockers and benches. A set of folded clothes clearly meant for him rested on one of the benches. He pulled them on. Tying his tennis shoes back on, he allowed himself a moment to breath. This had all been Ryo’s idea, but Akira couldn’t say he wasn’t slightly excited. Miko and Koda stood around a white tablet in Ryo’s hands. Miko towered over Ryo in her heels. It was kind of funny.

While they were murmuring to each other, he decided to start stretching. He sat on the floor near the track, pulling one foot to the inside of his thigh and reaching for his outstretched toes. Ryo said something impatiently, then Miko trotted over and dropped to the ground beside Akira. She had taken off her shoes and sweater, leaving a black tank top and the baggy slacks. She mimicked his pose and reached her toes with ease.

“You look nervous,” she observed. “Don’t you work out?”

“I haven’t worked out in almost three years,” he grunted, mid-stretch. She raised her eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I didn’t look like this,” he glanced over his shoulder. “Before I took the drug.”

“Ah,” she said, leaning back on her hands, “Well, at least it made you hot. I had to _work_ for this body.”

He laughed in spite of himself, realizing how much he liked her already.

“Ready,” she called out as Akira stood up. She skipped back over to stand behind Koda. Akira put his hands on the place a starting line would be, stretching one leg behind him.

“Ready…” Akira felt his breathing slow as Ryo counted down. He closed his eyes. “ _Go!”_

He took off, as fast as he could. His feet pounded the floor so fast it kind of felt like his brain was floating behind his body. It felt so _good_ to run again – he couldn’t get over that. His breath remained steady, which was still a strange phenomenon. After four laps, he jogged to a stop. Ryo looked down at the tablet, frowning. Miko typed furiously on her phone. Koda looked between the tablet and Akira with wide eyes.

“How was it?” Akira called.

“Three minutes, thirty two seconds.”

Akira gasped.

“Like, ten seconds faster than the fastest mile time on record,” Miko added, holding her phone up for Ryo and Koda to see. They all looked at Akira. Miko and Koda with awe, and Ryo with furrowed brows.

“Are you winded?”

“Not really,” Akira said. He felt just slightly spent. Ryo set his jaw.

“Do it again,” he commanded. Akira sighed, dropping into starting position.

Four miles and six sprints later, he was starting to really feel it. His breath came in short rasps and he doubled forward. Ryo continued to type things in to the tablet, asking Akira how he was feeling every so often.

“Are you familiar with weight lifting?”

“Yes,” he said. Coach Hiroda had insisted on strength training throughout their seasons, despite the fact that most teams only trained that way off-season.

“Start here.” Ryo pointed to an incline chest press. Akira was relatively unfamiliar with upper body workouts. He walked over and sat in the seat. Koda crouched down and looked at the weight bars.

“Where did you usually start?”

“Uh, one-fifty?”

“Try two hundred,” Ryo said curtly. Akira nodded his assent, and Koda pushed the pin into the right slot. Akira gripped the handles above his head, flexing his fingers to fit. He pushed up and out, until his elbows nearly locked, and brought them back down slowly. It was easy. He did five reps and stopped.

“Three hundred.”

He felt the weight push back against him as he did five more repetitions. On the fifth one, he grunted and dropped the weight.

“Can you try four hundred?”

Akira nodded, although he really didn’t think he could do it. The machines at the school had only gone up to 350, and he had only seen the wrestlers manage it. Koda put the pin at the bottom of the stack.

He pushed experimentally and it didn’t budge. He planted his feet, straightened his back, and tried again. He got five reps in before his muscles quit. _Oh, right,_ he remembered, _I fucking hate weight lifting._

Breathing hard, he glanced at Ryo. Their eyes locked.

Miko clapped slowly in reverence, breaking the silence.

“ _That’s_ pretty cool.”

Ryo continued to stare at him intensely, like he was working out a math problem in his head. Miko’s eyes flitted side to side as she put together an idea.

“With the right amount of training, he could –“

“That’s enough.” Ryo took the tablet and hid it beneath the folds of his coat. “Let’s move on.”

Miko pursed her lips. Akira did what Ryo told him, working various muscle groups until he was actually tired. About two hours into the workout, he felt a twinge in his shoulders. He dropped the dumbbell he had been holding, bringing a hand to his right shoulder.

“Something wrong?” Ryo asked. Akira shook his head. It must have just been improper form. But when he bent down to pick it back up, every muscle in his body seemed to contract in the opposite. He cursed, dropping to his hands and knees. 

“Akira!” He felt hands on his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he grunted. The pain wasn’t receding, in fact it seemed to be ramping up. He collapsed to his side, curling in on himself.

“No, you’re not,” Miko said from behind him. “Did he tear something?”

“I don’t know,” Koda said.

“It’s – ah – my muscles.”

“What do you mean?” She sounded panicked. Ryo fell to his knees and grabbed Akira’s arm, extending it in front of him.

“Not torn…”

“It’s…sore…” Akira tried to put to words what he was feeling. It was like the day after a workout – when all of your muscles were sore. It was that, but so exponentially worse he could hardly think through the pain.

“He overdid it,” Miko snapped at Ryo.

“Well then he should have said something,” Ryo shot back waspishly.

“I’m fine,” Akira tried to say again, but Ryo spoke over him.

“Muscle relaxers.”

“I don’t have any,” Miko said. “We need to call for help.”

“No,” Akira told them. “I don’t want drugs.”

Ryo glanced at him. 

“Let’s get him out of here,” Koda said

“Wait, wait,” Akira said, sitting up. He rubbed the muscles of his right thigh. “It… it’s going away.”

“ _What?_ ”

The pain had receded slightly, and he was able to think clearly.

“The soreness. It’s going away. It’s _gone._ ” He had the sensation of pins and needles, but nothing more. It was leaving as quickly as it had come.

Miko’s eyes went wide. She looked at Ryo, who still looked mildly upset.

“He’s healing."

“I’m what?”

“After a workout, muscles take a few days to heal, and it hurts. You just went through all of it in a matter of minutes.”

“No, that’s…” _impossible,_ he wanted to say. But he had run a three and a half minute mile, and he had been able to lift four hundred pounds with no training. That was all impossible, too. Ryo made a dismissive noise. When Akira looked up, his pale cheeks were flushed with color.

“The healing effects of the drug must include heightened white blood cell activity,” Ryo murmured. He still hadn’t let go of Akira’s arm. “It explains why you survived the gunshot wound, and how you recovered from so much blood loss in less than a day.”

“Christ,” Miko said, crossing her arms.

“I thought the effects would be stronger at first, and gradually fade,” he continued, getting quieter. “But they seem to be as effective as ever.”

“We could train him,” Miko said, again. She seemed to be very excited about something. Ryo shook his head, looking at her.

“I don’t know if you’re right. It could be something else. Maybe,” he let go of Akira’s arm – and was that his imagination or had his fingers lingered slightly around his wrist? “…maybe he should see someone.”

“No, Asuka,” She stepped closer, “We need to keep this _secret._ Think of the things we could do if he –“

“ _No._ ”

“Well, at the very least, news would get out. That’s not what we need right now,” she huffed.

Akira watched them argue, thinking hard. Miko was right, and he did want to train. Whatever that shit had just been, it was over, and he felt fine. In fact, he felt like he could keep going.

“We can talk about this later,” Ryo said, glancing at Akira. Miko looked disappointed, but kept quiet. Akira struggled not to roll his eyes – did they really have to treat him like a toddler?

“I’m fine now, so…?”

Ryo stood up in one smooth motion. “Let’s go. I think you’ve had enough for one day.”

~~~~~

Akira spent the remainder of the day working on homework. After eating an early dinner, he passed out in his room for a few hours. He wasn’t sure what woke him up, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. Feeling restless, he got out of bed. Ryo wasn’t in the living room, although the television was on. News, again. Something about the governor and his new cabinet picks. Akira couldn’t care less about politics, looking past the glare of the television to the glass doors leading to the balcony. For the first time, he opened them. Warm, humid air rushed past him as he stepped onto the cool concrete. As he passed by, the pool bubbled softly, lit by blue underwater lights.

In the dark, the city was waking up; lit by cars and buildings and streetlamps, people darting between the spots of light like living shadows. He placed his hands on the cool metal barrier, looking down. In the distance, the last signs of sunset were fading in to the clouds. So much activity below him, but it was quiet.

“Are you going to jump?” Came a voice from behind. Akira drew back from the rail.

“No.”

Ryo rested his elbows on the partition, less than a foot away. Instead of taking in the view, he just stared at Akira in that freakish way he had.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, after a long moment. “What have I done to lose your trust?”

Akira frowned. He had no idea how to answer that. Never in his life had he known someone who was just _always_ on some deep philosophical bullshit. Pinpricks of light flashed in distorted reflections on a tall building. Someone had been pulled over by the police.

“Everything I’ve done,” Ryo continued, “since that day on the beach, has been to keep you safe. I don’t want you to be unhappy, hard as that may be to believe.”

“Thanks,” Akira muttered, only a little sarcastically.

“I know this hasn’t been easy. I’ve asked a lot of you.”

_No shit._

“But I’m going to ask one more thing.” Akira turned his head, wishing he hadn’t. Half of Ryo’s face was lit by the gold hue of the city, bathed in a warm shadowy darkness. The other was washed out and bright from the indoor light. His eyelashes were translucent. It created a haunting, ghostly effect. One that Akira found extremely inviting. “You don’t have to like me, but it’s important that you trust me. That we trust each other.”

Akira swallowed. His head felt light – dizziness from being so high up, surely. “You have no reason to trust me.”

“You already saved my life once.”

_That was different,_ Akira thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“I want you to train me,” he said instead, surprising himself. Ryo tilted his head.

“Why would you want that?”

“I’m tired of being dead weight. If the time comes, I don’t want to just save you, or be saved. I want to protect –“ he bit his tongue, looking down at the twinkling lights,“ – protect myself.”

He knew when Ryo looked away from him, because he could finally breathe. They stood next to each other in silence for two long breaths.

“I’ve never seen you out here before.”

“It’s a nice view.”

“Hm,” Ryo turned around, going back inside. “I don’t think we’re seeing the same city.”


	5. Chapter Five

“I’ll train you.”

Akira blinked awake, squinting around his dark room. Ryo was standing at the end of his bed, fully dressed.

“ _Ryo,_ ” Akira pulled the duvet up to his neck, sitting bolt upright. “What time is it?”

“I’ll train you,” he said again. “That’s what you want, right?”

“Yes,” Akira said, only half awake. He rubbed at his eyes, allowing the covers to fall around his waist. Ryo crossed his arms.

“I will train you… if you agree to attend school online.” The end of his sentence came in a quiet rush, blending into a long string of white noise.

“Sure, whatever,” Akira fell back to the pillow.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” said a soft, satisfied voice in the darkness. Akira was already asleep.

What felt like minutes later, his door was thrown open with a bang.

“Go away, Ryo.”

“Wake up, _hitomi_ ,” sang a woman’s voice.

“Go away, Miko,” he groaned. A pillow was wrenched out from under his head, and he had a second to wonder where it had gone when he was beaten over the head with it.

“Hey!”

“My. Name. Is. _Miki.”_ Each word was punctuated with a hit to the upper body. Akira cried out in tired confusion, struggling to get away from the violent attack. He ended up on the carpet, legs caught in the blankets.

“Ow.”

“Get dressed.” The pillow landed on his face, and his door slammed shut. He gave himself a second, cheek resting against the floor, to wonder what in the fuck he had done to deserve this. But his survival instinct kicked in and he knew if he kept her waiting too long she would be back.

He didn't remember the half-asleep conversation with Ryo until he was getting dressed. Oh. _Oh._ That rat bastard. He paused with one leg stuck in a pair of sweatpants. Ryo had known the best time to get Akira to agree to his demands. Online school. He tried to feel upset, but the thought of returning to campus, filled with the anxiety and fear of before, was pretty upsetting on its own.

Miko waited by the elevator, looking too awake for five in the morning.

“What’s happening?”

“Training.”

“W-where’s Ryo?”

She shrugged, “No clue.”

“I thought he was training me.”

“I’ll try not to be offended by that,” she stepped into the elevator. “He told me to start you with the easy stuff. We’re going back to Otsuka.”

They got into the same black SUV as before, with Koda behind the wheel. He smiled at Akira from behind dark glasses.

“I’ve thought about your problem with healing,” Miko said, on the way, “And how it started about two hours into your workout. I thought we’d take thirty minute breaks on the two hour mark, and keep going afterward. If anything else comes up, we'll deal with it.”

“That sounds fine,” he said, leaning his forehead against the window. He must have dozed off, because when he blinked his eyes open, they were there. Akira was just as surprised by the jarring quality of the underground facility the second time around. Again, he changed in the quiet shower room. Even though he was tired, excitement buzzed through him as he met Miko and Koda in the center of the room. She had also changed, into black leggings and a white t-shirt.

“Let’s start with some laps.” She waited while he limbered up. Koda stretched with him. He had showed up in athletic gear; it looked like he would be working out, too. “We’re not gonna go as hard today – start with a mile. Don’t rush it, you can jog if you want.”

He did as she asked, running four laps with ease. Like she suggested, he didn’t rush it. It felt good to be active so early in the day again. He would have to start going to sleep earlier, though.

“Good.” She led him through basic calisthenics while Koda worked on the weight machines. Akira was a little shocked he could do _pull-ups_ now _._ That was something he had never done before, or even really gotten close. While he went through a set, he tuned in to the conversation the other two were having.

“So me and Junichi went to Asobi Friday night to check out the new headliner, and get this – we saw _Mayuta,_ ” Koda said, finishing a set of his own pull-ups.

“No way! Mayuta?!” Miko scoffed. “I guess I could have seen that coming.”

“What’s Asobi?” Akira asked, pulling an arm over his head to stretch it out.

“It’s, uh, a club.”

“Oh.”

“A _gay_ club,” Miko clarified.

“ _Oh._ ”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Koda asked shortly.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Miko interrupted before Akira could answer. “He hasn’t noticed me flirting with him at _all.”_

Akira stared, unsure what that meant.

“That’s – I’m not –“

“Sure, sure,” she dismissed him, looking down at her phone. “Let’s get some more work in before your break.”

Thirty minutes of push-ups and sprints later, she led him from the gymnasium back to the main room, opening the door opposite the kitchen. Three metal tubs sat in a row, one of them filled with ice.

“I’m not getting in there.”

“Wah, wah,” she said. “You won’t be complaining when your muscles start healing.” She glanced at her phone, “Which will be in about three minutes.”

Had it been two hours already? He sighed. “And if I refuse?”

She grinned at him, and somehow made it menacing.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

The door shut behind her, and he stared at the icy sludge. As he stripped his clothes off, he idly wondered who had set up an ice bath when they were the only ones here. He dipped a finger into the slush. It was fucking _cold_.

The rest of his body went in with much more resistance. His muscles were so tense; surely this was going to be counter-productive. Slowly, agonizingly, he submerged himself up to his neck, save for his knees, which stuck up from the ice like two pale snowdrifts.

As soon as he started to regret this idea, the pain began. It started in his legs and worked its way up to his chest and arms. His head hit the metal edge of the tub and he gritted his teeth. He thought about Miko’s insinuations to distract himself– had she really been flirting with him? It was an idea that a very young Akira would have found exciting – he remembered his childhood crush on Miki, and could have laughed. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought about any girl in that way for a very long time. He had been distracted by track, and then school, and then struggled to keep up with his university work. He had never dated anyone, he had never…

Then, unbidden, came the thought of Ryo the night before, wind tousling his blonde hair. Akira opened his eyes, deciding that thinking was bad and he would be better off focusing on his pain. It was intense, but the ice was maybe helping – a little.

A few minutes later, he was finally able to relax. He breathed in deeply, relishing in the absence of pain. His clothes were warm compared to the cold air.

What led him to the kitchen was more the smell of food than the sound of voices. Miko smiled at him, pushing a microwave chicken dinner across the small table.

“Asuka told me you eat a lot, so I got the family size,” she said. Akira fell on the food, ravenous.

“So the pain is completely gone?” Koda asked, leaning forward. Akira nodded.

“Told you so,” Miko pulled the bowl away from him. “We can keep going.”

“I’m not done eating!”

“Half now, half later.”

His stomach grumbled unhappily.

She put him back on the weights, working on his core. It felt like work, and he liked it. Two ice baths later, Miko called it a day. 

“You just worked out for six hours,” she said in the car, “And you don’t even look tired.”

“Well, I am.” It was strange. How could six hours have passed so quickly? He should be on the floor, unable to move, but he just felt pleasantly sleepy.

She smiled. “At least you’re still part human.”

Ryo was there when he was returned to the loft. Miko filled him in on the morning’s events while Akira made more food. Ryo shuffled into the kitchen a few minutes later, alone.

“Your classes are now online,” he said tiredly. “I sent the passwords and links to your email account.”

“My same classes?”

“Yes.”

That couldn’t have been easy. As tired as he was, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He didn’t have to worry about school anymore.

“Thank you. Really, I appreciate it.”

Ryo shrugged and went into his room, shutting the door.

~~~~~

Training, studying, sleeping. That became Akira’s life. Miko had him work on core, arms, legs, abs, and chest, rotating throughout the week. He didn’t see Ryo very much at all, besides the odd encounter while eating. After about two weeks, Akira started noticing changes. The delayed onset muscle soreness (yes, he Googled) was much less severe and less often. By the third week of training, he didn’t even need the ice baths. There was also more definition in his muscles, most notably in his arms and abs. He had always had a runner’s body, lean and less defined. Now, though, his upper arms bulged slightly and he could almost count his abdominals.

He returned from a quick food break one morning to find Miko and Koda sparring on the mat in the center of the gym. Koda advanced on her with a series of swings and misses. She avoided his attacks, light on her feet. Akira watched with interest at their movements. It was more like a dance than a fight. That is, until Koda let one of his swings go too wide. In a second, she had grabbed him around the elbow and used his momentum to spin him around. On the second spin, she used his arm to swing him up in the air and down again.

He hit the mat with a grunt, and Akira thought it was over. But Koda kicked at one of her feet, sending her staggering. With another well-placed kick, she was knocked to her side.

“Shit, dude,” she groaned, rolling to her back.

“You knocked me down first,” he said, walking toward his water bottle. Miko jumped to her feet quietly.

Akira flinched as she took a running jump and locked his neck between her thighs, twisting them both over in a somersault. She rolled out of it and onto her feet. It happened so fast Akira could hardly understand what he had seen.

“Fuck you,” Koda said, catching his breath.

Miko grinned at Akira. “He’s just mad you saw him get his ass beat.”

“What _was_ that?” Akira asked, awestruck.

“That was cheating, ” Koda said.

“That was _Judo,_ ” she corrected. She drained her water bottle and threw it at Koda’s lifeless body.

“Is that – will I do that?”

“That’s the plan. You’re not ready quite yet, though.”

Akira frowned. He had been working pretty damn hard the past three weeks, not to mention he was stronger than Miko and Koda combined.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you need about another week of muscle gain.” She cocked her head at his defeated expression. “For a normal person, I would say a month.”

Akira nodded, excitement flickering in his veins. “Okay.”

~~~~~

Unfortunately, school work wasn’t coming as easily to him as training was, even if it was online. He continued to puzzle over philosophy. In every other class, he had been able to recover from his terrible midterms. But finals were fast approaching, and he needed more help than he was getting online.

Hesitantly, he knocked on Ryo’s door. He wasn’t even sure if he was in there. He tended to disappear late at night and return early in the mornings, shuffling around the apartment like the spirit of a hungover teenager.

The door pulled open, revealing a very disheveled Ryo.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes puffy with sleep. Akira looked him up and down. His hair was flattened on one side and stuck out at odd ends. A long sleeved, wrinkled black shirt hung almost past the legs of black briefs. Given his first real look, Akira took in a large bed with tousled white sheets in the room behind him.

“I was going to – you, uh, said you could help me with philosophy if I needed it,” his words came out in an apologetic rush. Ryo looked at the pile of notes and papers in Akira’s hands for a long moment.

“Oh. Of course.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I can just –“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ryo mumbled, pulling the door shut behind him.

He sat with Akira at the kitchen table, pulling their chairs close. Akira had never seen his bare legs before – they weren't as skinny as expected. He had runner's calves.

“What are you having trouble with?”

Akira struggled to remember what questions he had. Ryo rubbed at his eyes, yawning.

“Akira?”

He shook his head free of the momentary mental block, spreading out his papers.

“I have to connect Kant with the Meiji Restoration, but they’re so different I don’t know where to start.”

Ryo rifled through the notes, nodding slowly.

“You understand the Restoration better than you do Kant.” He sat back from the table, talking with the air of someone who knew the topic very well. “You’re focusing on Kant’s philosophy instead of his politics. The Restoration was based on Japan’s desire to learn from Western influence, while simultaneously rejecting their colonialist values. Kant’s politics are extremely Western, but if you focus on his idea of a universal history – the idea that all of humankind works as a unit – you can make the comparison.”

He went on like that for a while, pointing out the spots in Akira’s notes that were weak or unimportant, crossing them out or adding to them in a messy scrawl. Akira tried to keep his mouth closed as Ryo sped through the history of both sides. He seemed to be staggeringly familiar with both subjects, creating a more well-rounded lesson plan than Akira’s teacher ever had. When he paused for breath, Akira held a hand up.

“Give me a minute,” he scribbled down some of the things Ryo was saying on a blank sheet, plucking the pen out of the blonde’s hand to do so. Ryo leaned over to see what he was writing.

“I can repeat some things, if you like.” His breath was minty. It shattered Akira’s concentration.

“I’ve got it, just give me a second,” he wrote faster, wishing Ryo wouldn’t lean over his shoulder like that.

“ _Rechtsstaat_ is doctrine of law, not nation.”

“Got it,” Akira snapped, scribbling out his mistake.

“Am I helping?” Ryo asked, sitting back.

“Yes,” Akira responded begrudgingly. “You’re really good at this, actually. Better than my professor.”

“I should hope so. I taught for a while in St. Petersburg.”

Akira looked up, “You taught philosophy?”

“Philosophy, political theory, law,” he listed. “I went back and forth.”

“But you’re so _young_ _._ ”

Ryo frowned. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Right,” Akira looked back at his notes and dropped his pen to the table. “I’m hopeless.”

Ryo fiddled with the edge of a paper.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you plan to do when you get your degree?”

Akira hadn’t expected that. He tried to think of a good answer.

“I thought I would run track, maybe get to the Olympics. I had sponsors lined up, scholarships…when I broke my leg and it didn’t heal right, that all went out the window. Maybe I’ll get an office job or something. I know that…that things are different now, and I can run again. But I don’t know if it’ll last.”

Ryo made a soft noise.

“Can I ask you a question?” Akira didn’t want to dwell on his lost future anymore.

“Yes,” Ryo said.

Akira thought about what he was going to say, unsure how Ryo would react.

“You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much already. When I was in high school, you were traveling and teaching at universities…why would you choose to be a criminal?”

He held his breath, half ready to be snapped on – Ryo could be unpredictable. But that didn’t happen.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I’m good at,” he said wearily.

“It seems like you’re good at everything.”

Ryo looked at him, maybe fondly, maybe with pity.

“I didn’t choose any of this.”

“Like I didn’t choose to be made into a freak?”

The smile faded, replaced by one of those intense looks only Ryo could give.

“I didn’t choose to save you. I had to do it.”

“What does that mean?”

Ryo shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Come on, don’t you trust me?”

Ryo was quiet for a moment, a pained look on his face.

“It was five against one on that dock, and you were going to _fight_... I just wanted to help. But then I got shot. It was unexpected. And then you tried to help _me_ , and that was unexpected, too. When you collapsed and I saw the wound, and the blood... I didn’t have time to think. Nothing in the world would have stopped me from doing whatever it took to help.”

He hadn’t… those _were_ choices, ones that Ryo had made to save him, despite the consequences. Akira just hadn’t expected Ryo to be so emotional about it. He thought it had been a cold and heartless decision. He pictured Ryo, injured and alone as Akira bled out on the carpet. He had never thought Ryo injected him out of _panic._

“Anyone would have helped. I’m not special.”

Ryo shook his head. “Yes, you are.”

Akira didn’t know what to say. They just looked at each other, and what felt like a long time later Ryo broke eye contact.

“Did you have any more questions?”

Akira had lots of questions, but he needed to work on his essay before inevitably passing out around seven.

“I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

Ryo shuffled off, disappearing back to his room. Akira turned back to his notes. Now that he knew what to look for, he had no problem forming his thesis.

~~~~~

With his diet of protein and iron, the next week showed more muscle gain than should be possible. The first four hours of that next Monday were normal conditioning and weight lifting, which Akira now did with ease. It was one of the days when Koda wasn’t there, so it was quiet. Miko stopped him around eleven.

“What’s up?” He set his dumbbells on the floor.

“We’re gonna start something new.”

He tried not to show his excitement as she sized him up.

“Do you know how to throw a punch?”

“I guess so.”

“No, Akira, have you ever _punched_ anyone?”

“…No?”

“That’s what I thought, follow me.” He trailed behind her as she pushed open a door in the corner of the gymnasium and flicked on the light. The room was small with high ceilings. Punching bags hung heavily from hooks in a row.

“Right, so, basics,” she took a strip of black velcro out of a bucket on the floor and began wrapping her hands with it in complex twists as she talked. “Obviously, punch with your thumb on the outside of your fist, between your first and second knuckles.” She demonstrated with one wrapped fist.

“Second, your knuckles should be making contact, not your fingers. Third, align your wrist with your forearm so you don’t break your wrist.” She grabbed his hands and in turn wrapped them the same way she had hers.

“How does that feel?”

He clenched his fingers. “Good.”

She went to the bag closest to them. “I’m gonna give you an example. Watch my feet, hips and shoulders.”

She put her feet at an angle, not facing the bag but not turned completely away. Her right hand rested just below her jaw, the left in front of her face. Then she punched the bag. He focused on her hands, and how the bag hardly budged.

“Did you get that?”

“Could you do it again? I forgot to look at your hips.”

She shook out her right hand. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

He let that slide and watched her more carefully this time. Her back leg and hips twisted in the same direction, propelling her punch forward.

“See that? The force has to come from your lower half.”

She dragged him toward the bag, pulling his hands into position.

“Good, now just –“ She turned his hips to an angle from the bag, “Good hand goes by your face, there you go.”

He punched experimentally, and winced in pain. He may as well have punched a brick wall. The shock of it seemed to travel up his arm and into his shoulder. Miko _tsked._

“You’re trying to use your arms to move it, use your legs and shoulder.”

He tried, and the bag actually moved.

“That was good, do it again.”

He punched again, and again. It was frustrating, because he knew that with all the raw strength he had built up, he could be moving the bag farther. He just didn’t know how to channel it.

“Okay, your form’s not too bad. Now try to punch _through_ the bag. That’s where you get your power from. Follow-through. Aim for the back of the bag, if that makes sense.”

He nodded, picturing his fist going straight through the bag. This time, his punch felt more powerful.

“How do your hands feel?”

“They sting,” he shook them out.

“Okay. Let me know when they start bleeding.”

“If you say so,” he mumbled, repositioning himself.

His knuckles were raw for the next several days, to the point where he had to ice them down at night. He sat with his hands in bowls of ice while Ryo typed out his homework for him on the laptop. He didn’t seem to mind helping, and when Akira looked over the work before submitting, it was slightly changed from what he had dictated. Better, actually.

After punches were kicks, which proved to be a slight problem. Miko was teaching him a higher kick that made his old injury twinge uncomfortably.

“That’s fine,” she said after his third failed attempt. He sat and hugged his right knee, stretching it gently. “You don’t need high kicks in Judo, anyway. Although I doubt you’ll be able to sweep anyone with that knee…” she tugged on her ponytail thoughtfully. “I’ll let Koda work with you on that, he’s better with ground work.”

“Ground work?”

“We’ll get there,” she waved him off. “Let’s see what you can do with your left leg.”

Days were flying by with increasing speed as the semester progressed. It was early October before he was allowed off the punching bags. His punching form was just as good as Miko and Koda’s, and he had successfully learned to high kick with his left leg.

While Miko had been in charge during the first part of his training, Koda seemed to take over as they moved on to “falling practice.” Akira thought it was kind of dumb, and that he would just learn how to fall as they went along, but both of his teachers insisted on working his way to it.

He started out by laying on the ground and hitting the mat with his hands repeatedly, just beside his hips. This exercise began on the ground, then with him falling back from a crouch, then from his feet. As much as he hated it, he did kind of see the point. This way, he was training himself to fall in a rolling motion, catching his weight near his waist instead of just falling onto his elbows. He did small forward rolls, where Koda showed him how to turn his head so his shoulder took all of his weight. The next level was Koda kneeling in front of him and flipping him over his shoulder so he fell farther to the mat. They did this over and over, until Akira was quite literally blue in the face.

“I hate this so much,” he said from the floor one day. Koda released his arm and stood up.

“Don’t let Asuka hear you say that.”

“Is he here?” Akira sat up with a start.

“No. But you’ll be training with him soon,” Miko hung upside down from the pull-up bar, taking a break from a trapeze-like swing she had been doing. “And he’s Russian.”

“What’s your point?”

“He’s gonna destroy you. I’ve never even seen him fight. There's no telling what kind of power he’s packing in those skinny arms.”

Akira tried to picture the same person who had wrapped his hands in bandages doing the kinds of flips and kicks as the other two, and fell short.

“Again,” Koda offered him a hand.

~~~~~

It was agonizing, if not for the pain and bruising (however fast they healed), but for the constant repetition. Then, one day, he woke up, ate breakfast, and waited. No one showed up, and he started to get antsy. Now that he thought about it, he had no way to contact either Miko or Koda.

He realized he had dozed off on the couch when the elevator doors alerted him. Ryo stepped out, tablet in hand.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Akira.

“Miko never came up.”

“She…?” He pulled his phone from within the white coat and called a number, going in his room and shutting the door. Akira sat anxiously, thinking the worst. Ryo came back out a minute or two later, striding towards the elevator.

“Where is she? What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Ryo told him tiredly. “You don’t have to train today.”

“Are you going to see her?” Akira stopped the elevator doors from closing.

“She’s fine, I promise. Let go.” Ryo pressed the ‘door shut’ button pointedly.

Something didn’t feel right. Ryo wasn’t telling him the truth. Akira stepped into the elevator.

“What are you doing?” Ryo said in disbelief.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

Akira let the elevator doors close behind him, and the look he received in return had him taking a hesitant step against the far wall. He didn’t want to find out the hard way how good Ryo was at fighting. Ryo’s black glare didn’t waver until the doors opened again.

Akira got into the shiny silver car for the first time in a long time. He waited for Ryo to say something, but he didn’t. They skirted the edge of downtown, southward. Ryo drove extremely fast, due to anger or the desire to cheat death as much as possible, Akira didn’t know.

They parked in a garage above a strip of shopping centers.

“I suppose it would be foolish to ask you to wait in the car.”

Akira didn’t like the lifeless way Ryo delivered the line. “I’m going,” he said.

Despite his evident vitriol, Ryo stuck very close to Akira’s side as they walked down the street. Akira was glad for it. There were too many people around. He started to regret his snap decision. They went inside a plain looking apartment building that Akira was surprised to see was very nice on the inside. Much nicer than anything his parents could have afforded him. And blessedly empty.

One more awkward elevator ride later, he followed Ryo down a hallway. Floor five, room 54. He tried to commit it to memory – just in case. Ryo knocked twice. The door opened a second later. It was Miko, and she didn’t look good. Her hair was piled on top of her head, she wore oversized sweats, and her left eye was swollen shut in a black and blue mess.

Despite the black eye, she managed to show surprise when she noticed Akira, but didn’t say anything. She held the door open for them. Akira stepped inside, staying close to the door. He couldn’t look away from her. Ryo stepped close to her and put his hand on her face, stroking her cheek right where the bruise started. She winced.

“Who was it?”

She glanced at Akira. “Jiro Matsumoto.”

The name, oddly, sounded familiar to Akira. He tried to place it but couldn’t.

“What happened?

“I made the delivery. He got handsy.”

“And where was Junichi?”

She didn’t answer straight away.

“Miki.”

“I thought I could do it alone. I gave him the night off.”

Ryo dropped his hand from her face, walking to the back of the apartment and onto the small balcony with his phone. When the door shut, Akira exhaled. Miko crossed her arms.

“I guess you’ll be my replacement,” she said sarcastically, sitting on the couch. Akira looked around briefly. It was small but nice, with lots of window space and furnishings.

“I was worried about you. Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She snapped, then her shoulders slumped and she looked anxiously toward the balcony. “He’s in a bad mood. I’d hate to be Junichi right now. And Koda’s going to be furious with me.”

“What for?”

She picked up a bag of frozen vegetables from a side table and pressed it to her eye, wincing. “For ratting out his boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t seem angry,” Akira said doubtfully. 

“You have no idea,” she muttered, closing her good eye. Ryo faced away from them with his phone pressed to his ear.

“When you didn’t show up, I… I thought maybe –“

“I’m fine, really. Thanks for checking up.”

“I think you should –“

“Kuroda,” Ryo stuck his head through the door and waved her over. She put the frozen bag back down and went outside. Akira looked into the kitchen, poking around for a second before finding a set of sticky notes. He wrote down his name and number and stuck it to the coffee maker.

The two of them came back inside. Miko sat down on the couch and crossed her arms.

“We’re going,” Ryo opened the door.

Akira hesitated, looking at Miko. She smiled and waved.

“See you tomorrow, _hitomi._ ”

“Bye.”

“What happened to her?” He asked when they were back in the car. “What kind of delivery was she making?”

Ryo typed something on his phone.

“What’s going to happen to Junichi?”

“Christ, Akira, I’m not the bad guy!” Ryo exclaimed in an unusual display of frustration. “They made a mistake, and it delegitimizes our operation. Now I have to fix it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Damage control.” Ryo accelerated through downtown. It was still early, not even rush hour yet. The Tokyo Metro Government Building towered over them. Akira watched with disbelief as he pulled right into the parking garage underneath, flashing his ID to the man at the window.

“How are you allowed in here?”

“An old friend,” Ryo said, circling the garage. “I won’t be long.”

"You're leaving me here?"

He flashed Akira a cold look. "You wanted to come."

The door slammed. Akira looked around through the dark windows, nervous. Poor Miko. What he didn’t understand was how anyone had given her a black eye – he’d seen what she was capable of.

Ryo was back before long, and they drove home in silence. It wasn’t until later in the day, when he was sitting on the floor of the living room with his homework, that his phone buzzed.

_I’m not sending nudes, Fudo._

He saved the number under Miko’s name.

_Are you okay?_

He waited for her answer, leaning back against the white fabric of the couch cushion. It was nearly one o’clock; he thought Ryo would be waking up soon.

_Just peachy._

So she didn’t want to talk now, either. He was glad to have her number, anyway, even if it didn’t mean much.

Right on time, Ryo shuffled into the room with a glass of wine.

“No questions, please,” he said grumpily just as Akira opened his mouth. He snapped it shut, doing the same to his laptop. It was hard to do homework with Ryo around; he usually tried to help where it wasn’t needed, coming off more condescending than he probably intended. Even now, he eyed the computer in Akira’s lap with tired eyes.

“I never worked half as hard on my schoolwork as you do.”

Akira frowned, taken aback by the insult. Of course everything was easy for Ryo, but he usually wasn’t so self-serving about it. Catching the look on Akira’s face, he set his phone down.

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“Did you?”

Ryo cocked his head. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to remind people that things are easy for you. Trust me, they know.”

Ryo looked confused for a split second, then picked up the remote control.

“In some cases, the effort put into a thing is worth more than the finished product.”

Akira pondered that for about a second before giving up. Trying to figure Ryo out never got him anywhere. He just shifted so he could gaze out at the cloudy afternoon sky. The television clicked on to the same old bland news channel. Akira watched a cloud drift past the sun.

Somewhere on the way to a nap, something on the television nagged at his attention. Blinking, he looked up at the flashing text beneath the newscaster: _Drug abuse scandal in Tokyo Metro._

“ _Matsumoto Jiro, of the Tokyo Public Health and Safety Commission, was arrested earlier today after an anonymous tip informed the police…_ ” the TV droned. That name… Akira looked at Ryo, dumbstruck.

“— _following the tip, at least three pounds of cocaine were found in the offices of_ –”

Akira sat up. Ryo watched the screen impassively.

“Your _friend?_ ”

“The head of security,” Ryo said, too smugly.

“— _massive investigation of the situation has begun, more on that at seven_.”

Akira stared dumbly ahead as the news cut to commercial break. The boy sitting next to him had just framed a government official for drug use like it was _nothing,_ not to mention the fact that the government’s security system was _completely_ corrupt. God, as horrible as it was, Akira was kind of _impressed_.

“You just ruined a man’s life,” he said slowly. He didn’t even mean it as a judgement, he was just stating the fact of the matter.

“He’s a criminal.”

“ _You’re_ a criminal,” Akira pointed out.

“I’m not in public office,” Ryo said.

Akira tried not to smile. “You did this for Miko.”

Ryo’s eyes softened even as he shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“To send a message, then.”

“Yes,” Ryo replied, with the softest tone of surprise. Akira looked up at the screen, eyes wide at the footage of Matsumoto being led out in handcuffs.

“I think it worked.”

“Yes,” Ryo said again. “It did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys <3


	6. Chapter Six

The black eye was even worse when Miko picked him up the next morning. She usually didn’t look tired, despite the early hours, but now she had dark circles under her eyes – eye – and yawned widely on the way down.

“God,” she said, leaning her head back against the car seat. “This sucks.”

“What?”

“I usually deal with you at the end of the day.”

He sighed and asked what was quickly becoming his catchphrase. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not allowed to work until my eye heals, so I accidentally slept through the night.”

“Is that not normal?”

“No, Fudo. I work nights. We all work nights, you know this.” Her hand came up to her cheek.

He knew Ryo did, but Miko’s activities outside of training were still a total mystery.

“Where’s Koda?”

She sighed and took a turn a little too sharply. He gripped the door handle.

“He’s working for me.”

“Oh. I – I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault.”

Akira sighed, settling in for the short drive.

“We’re gonna start with throws,” she said later. “I don’t think you did that with Koda yet.”

“He threw me,” Akira said, shaking out a phantom pain in his shoulder.

She pulled him to the center of the mat.

“Remember your posture. Remember to focus on my hips and chest.” She gave him a wink with her good eye. He smiled reluctantly, following her instructions as she had taught him weeks ago. “Do you remember why?”

“Because hips and torso telegraph your opponent’s move.”

She moved forward on her right foot, and Akira instinctively pivoted on his left, drawing the right back so that they were standing diagonally to each other. She moved again, Akira one second behind, so that they were at right angles. She straightened.

“Your footwork is decent. 

He had dropped his stance when she did, so he had no time to react when she rushed him, kicking his legs out and throwing him by the waist. He had just enough time to catch his fall so he didn’t break his neck.

“Okay, maybe not so decent.”

“Sorry,” he stood up.

“It’s fine. Just, um, let’s do some throws,” she said. She seemed off, but he figured it was her messed up sleep schedule. She let him throw her a few times, without resisting. It was simple enough.

After a few hours, she wasn’t getting up so easily. He tried not to feel bad. She wasn’t complaining. Then they started sparring. Miko was extremely quick, but after she got a particularly savage throw in he got frustrated. He didn’t spend a whole week getting bruised to shit for nothing.

They moved around each other, with lurching movements. He watched her hips as they turned with each step, looking for that one move out of sync. His shoulder throbbed again.

There it was. She went low, knowing his legs were his weakest point. Out of pure spite, he decided to try something new. He dropped, grabbing her arm near the shoulder with his right hand and bracing himself on the mat with his left arm. He used the combined momentum of his fall and her lunge to flip her over him completely…

Much harder than necessary. He didn’t want her to fall on top of him, so he had pulled a little harder to make sure she went the full arc. It seemed he had miscalculated, though, when she skidded across the mat for a full ten feet before ramming shoulder-first into the base of the dipping bars. She hit it so hard, in fact, that the whole structure was jostled. 

“Oh, _fuck_. Fuck. Fuck," she cried, clutching her shoulder.

“Miko!” He got to his feet and ran over to her. She waved him away, sitting up. “I – I have no idea how that happened. I didn’t mean –”

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. Then she did something weird. She started laughing. Deep, gasping laughs. Akira sat down next to her, confused and guilty. He hadn’t seen her hit her head, but maybe…

“You really know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you?” She rolled onto her back, wincing. “That’s never happened to me.”

“No one ever beat you?”

Her smile disappeared. “I wouldn’t say you _beat_ me. But you did surprise me.” Something in his face must have been funny, because she laughed again, putting a hand on his knee.

“Don’t get too excited; we can chalk it up to me being tired.”

“Sure.”

She smiled at him, and even the deep purple of her eye couldn’t mask how beautiful she was.

“Do you drink?”

“I – uh, I never…”

She raised her eyebrows. “Go change. We’re going for a drink.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” he said as she jogged off.

~~~~~

Miko’s apartment hadn't changed, but without Ryo’s icy presence it felt much more homey. She kicked off her shoes and went to the fridge.

“Koda and Junichi are coming down. They live in this building, too.”

“Oh.” He looked around the living room, noting the lack of photos or personal effects.

“ _Oh,_ ” she mocked him, making her voice deep. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

He sat, and she pressed a cold bottle into his hands. Apple cider, the label read. Miko collapsed more than sat on the chair across from him, putting her feet on the table.

“How’s your eye?” He asked after a pause.

“Black.” She took a swig of her beer, and he did the same. It was surprisingly sweet, and very good. He hadn’t had alcohol since the night after his record-breaking track meet, at the team’s party. The party he had blacked out at.

“More annoying than painful, honestly,” Miko was saying. “It just sucks.”

“Do… do your _clients_ usually attack you like that?”

She shifted. “We’re always supposed to do things in pairs. And it’s not like I couldn’t have taken him… Ugh, it’s just a shitty situation. I kind of had to let it happen.” She shrugged.

“He got arrested,” Akira said.

“I know. That helps a little.”

“Ryo really cares about you, if you want my opinion,” he said, looking into his bottle.

“Well, if you want _my_ opinion, he –” the door was opened by a tall guy with dark hair and a handsome face in sweatpants. Behind him was Koda, wearing a leather jacket and dark bags under his eyes.

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

“Hey,” Miko lifted her feet so the two men could shuffle to the couch. Koda set a brown paper bag on the table. “How was it?”

Koda shrugged. “I’ve been out since seven. Not too bad, but damn if your runs aren’t all over the place.”

“What did you bring me?” She gestured to the bag. The dark headed guy – Junichi, probably – pulled out a large bottle of a honey colored liquid.

“It’s a little early for you, Kuroda,” he said. “I know you got a good night’s sleep.”

“You try going clubbing with a black eye,” she snapped. “My ass can only distract people for so long.”

“Gross,” Koda and Junichi said in unison. Akira sipped his beer to hid his smile.

“Anyway, I could use something stronger. She set down her bottle and went back to the small kitchen. There was a small clinking of glasses. “Fudo kicked my ass this morning.”

Two pairs of eyes turned to him.

“Really? The last time I saw you, Asuka was dragging you out of a basement,” Junichi said.

“Not my best moment,” Akira allowed, shuddering internally. “I’ve come a long way.”

“He threw me ten feet across the mat. Like it was _nothing_ ,” Miko sat four small glasses on the table.

“I find that hard to believe,” Junichi said, “You’re pretty heavy.”

She snatched the bottle of whiskey from his hand. “You’re a brat.”

Akira watched her pour the four shots with expert precision. Were they all really about to take shots this early in the morning? He waited for someone to say something, react with the same trepidation he felt.

“I really shouldn’t,” he protested as the other three leaned forward to take a glass. Miko looked at him as if he’d slapped her. “I have homework, and…” He faltered under three pairs of eyes.

“You have to go home to _Ryo_ every day. I don’t know why you don’t drink _more._ ”

“He’s not that bad,” Akira muttered. But he took a glass anyway.

“Cheers,” Koda said, draining the shot.

Akira followed suit, his concern melting away as the liquor burned its way down his throat. He coughed as the feeling went into his chest, arms, and fingers. He chased it with the cider.

“So what _is_ it like living with Ryo?” Junichi sat back. Koda threw an arm over his shoulder, drawing him close.

Akira focused on the question with difficulty. “Um, quiet.”

Junichi laughed. Miko took another shot, made a face, and put her feet in Akira’s lap.

“Did you go to Urayasu?”

Koda nodded. “Everything with the –“ He glanced at Akira, “y’know, more important ones, is a little touch and go after yesterday. No one seems to want to cause any trouble, though, so there’s one thing you did right.”

Akira tuned out their work talk, as he had grown accustomed to doing in the long car rides to and from the training warehouse. He felt good, light. A buzzy feeling seemed to have taken up a good part of his brain. Junichi pulled his feet up in front of him, leaning into Koda. Koda fingered the edge of Junichi’s sleeve absent-mindedly as he talked.

It was innocuous, and kind of cute. Akira didn’t know why it made him feel so strange. And hedidn’t know why he was thinking about Ryo, and how he would probably be mad if he knew where Akira was. He didn’t want Miko to get into any more trouble. So he _really_ didn’t know why he accepted a glass during the next round of shots.

The second one hit him even harder than the first, and when he went to sip his cider it was already gone. The thought made him want to giggle, but he fought the urge.

“I’m going to bed,” Koda said, picking up the bottle and standing. “Take care of that eye.” He ruffled Miko’s hair and she slapped at his hand.

“Nice to meet you, for real this time,” Junichi waved his goodbye as he followed Koda out of the room.

“Bye,” Akira said.

“We should get going, too,” Miko said to him over her knees. “I’d hate to keep you from your _homework_.”

She sat up when he started giggling, brows drawn. “You never laugh at my jokes.”

He tried to stop, but the light buzzy feeling in his chest just made everything so _funny._ Miko stared at him in disbelief, and she went a little pale.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he said. That was ridiculous.

“That’s ridiculous,” he told her.

He didn’t feel drunk until he got in her car. That’s when his head started spinning. Miko glanced over every few seconds as they approached Ryo’s building.

“Your boyfriend is going to kill me,” she said decisively, grimacing.

And there was the giggling again. “Ryo’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, my god. Please, just,” she threw the car into park. “Get out of the car.”

She stared at him as the elevator went up, up, up.

“He’s probably asleep, so just go straight to your room, okay?”

He nodded.

“Jesus Christ, Fudo, stop smiling. Its unnatural.”

Everything was quiet, except for his stomach. He bypassed his bedroom door for the kitchen. Noodles. He wanted noodles.

Ryo was at the kitchen table, biting a thumbnail and staring at his computer.

“Hi,” Akira said, a little too loudly.

Ryo didn’t even look up, that’s how cool he was. _So cool_ , Akira found himself thinking. Then he did look up, with alarmed, cool eyes, because Akira was giggling again. “What is that? What are you doing?”

“I’m _laughing._ ” Akira said, opening the fridge.

“Why?”

Akira shrugged. “Because I feel good.”

He found a frozen chicken dinner and turned toward the microwave.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he gripped the kitchen island to avoid falling when Ryo was _right there._

“Are you concussed?"

“No. I’m hungry.”

“Really? Because Miki will tell me,” he countered. His face was set in a glower but his eyes were worried. At least, that’s what Akira’s booze-addled brain was telling him.

“Miko won’t tell you anything,” Akira said. He realized his mistake a moment too late as Ryo lifted his eyebrows delicately. “I – I mean nothing happened.”

Ryo leaned forward, like, way too far into Akira’s personal space. Time seemed to slow down, and he was too shocked to move. The frozen dinner clattered to the granite surface of the counter. His heart was _pounding_ – was Ryo going to – ?

“Whiskey. You’ve been drinking.” He stepped back, leaving the vague smell of citrus and mint, and made a sound that could have been a laugh but probably wasn’t. “Of course she did. This is how she gets back at me.”

“No,” Akira said, ignoring the deflating sensation in his chest. “No, I wanted to. It was just a couple of shots, and I had a light breakfast.”

Ryo scoffed, jaw tight. “I’ve been working for twenty-four hours straight, and you’re out drinking. That’s just great.”

“Why do you care?” he asked loudly, earning himself an eye roll. Ryo stalked away, leaving him alone to throw his melting dinner in the microwave.

~~~~~

Ryo was in a foul mood for the next few days, which meant that Akira was looking forward to training more than ever. Koda continued to work longer hours, dealing drugs, assassinating people – Akira had really given up speculating – so Junichi started joining them. He was better to spar with; heavier and a little slower. It was easier to predict his movements and learn how to counter, and harder to throw him into any heavy machinery.

Miko’s eye was starting look better after a week. The heavy purples and blues were fading into a sickly yellow/green color that she tried and failed to cover up with makeup. Akira noticed some improvement with his sparring; he was getting caught off guard less and less, even though he was holding back. He hadn’t mentioned it, but after throwing Miko across the mat that day, he had been terrified of hurting someone. Junichi was less likely to surprise him, so he could rein it in as much as possible and still improve. Miko watched everything he did, but never called him out on it.

When her eye was only slightly darker than the rest of her face, she decided to start joint sparring. She didn’t really announce this so much as start in the middle of a fight. Akira flipped Junichi over his back, sending him rolling twice before he found his footing. Akira re-adjusted his own footing, readying for the next attack, when a flying weight latched onto his back. He yelped and staggered forward. Junichi laughed at him, and swept his legs.

Akira hit the mat hard and rolled to his back. Miko was miraculously on her feet, breathing hard and looking down at him.

“All this training, and you give up just like that?”

“You surprised me.”

“That was so the point!”

He sat up, ignoring Junichi’s smirk. Miko actually looked upset.

“I can’t pass you off to Ryo if you’re gonna half ass this.”

Akira bit down his retort.

“It won’t happen again.”

After that, things were different. Miko didn’t joke around as much, and even Junichi kept quiet. After a few days of frustration, he was able to defend himself against the both of them. His movements had to be much less elaborate and he had to think at least three steps ahead.

“I’m back to work tonight,” she said, aiming a kick at his chest. He hit the crook of her knee with the flat of his hand and deflected a punch from Junichi.

“And?”

“Koda will be here tomorrow.” She tried to sweep his legs. “If you can take all three of us, you can start training with Ryo.”

He paused for a split second, a burst of excitement going through his chest. For what, he didn’t know. It’s not like he was training for any specific reason. But Ryo had kind of been an ass lately… Akira flipped Junichi over his shoulder with undeserved vindictiveness, picturing Ryo instead.

His lapse in concentration gave Miko the opportunity to jump on his back. She locked her thighs around his neck. Junichi would be on his feet any second. He grabbed her knees, breaking the grip on his neck with just a little effort, and pushed her backwards as he dropped a knee to the mat.

Without looking, he knew his mission had been accomplished. He had dropped her close enough to the ground not to hurt her, but close enough to stop Junichi from getting up. They both made noises of surprise. He turned around. Miko had landed perpendicular to Junichi, with her elbow on his stomach.

Junichi rolled out from under her, still grinning.

~~~~~

It was cold outside that next morning. Miko looked more put together than she had in a while. A dark ponytail swayed high on her head, and she wore a deep red lipstick to match the cropped turtleneck, black leggings, and heavy overcoat.

“You look chipper,” he groused into the elevator, regretting his decision to stay up so late. Despite his success in judo, he was still just barely treading water in school.

“And you don’t,” she said. “Would it kill you to put an outfit together? To make _some_ kind of statement?”

“I look forward to fighting you today. I really do.”

“Good,” she was serious again, “But let me preface.” She put a hand to his arm.

“I would never, _ever_ tell you to do anything less than your best, sweetie. But if you get near my face with anything harder than a kiss on the cheek, I will _end_ you.”

“Got it,” he smiled. She dropped her hand.

It all went by very fast. Judo against three opponents didn’t really work, and it was all he could do to stay on the defensive, making no headway. Junichi and Miko took turns going for the weak spot – his bad leg – while Koda just barreled towards him over and over again. Two different kinds of attacks, hardly any room to move when they all surrounded him. Avoiding was starting to tire him, and although he knew he would outlast all three of the others if it came to endurance, it wouldn’t really be a victory.

He watched Koda charge him, waiting just a second too long. He saw on the other man’s face when he was confused by the hesitation, and struck. About three-fourths of his strength was enough force to stop his momentum completely. He looked down at Akira’s hand on his chest, the breath knocked completely out of him. Junichi, expecting Koda to be diverted again, had already started a low kick to the back of Akira’s bad leg. When Akira jumped to drive his knee into Koda’s stomach, that kick collided with Koda’s shin. He doubled over with a grunt, and Akira braced a hand on his exposed back and pulled him towards Junichi, who, breaking character, caught him as he fell.

“That’s two,” he said as Miko narrowly missed kicking him in the ear. He caught two more kicks, taking steps back now that he had room. She closed in savagely, face focused as her movements became faster and faster. He had a moment of doubt, hardly able to keep up. There was a sharp sting in his leg. He ignored it. Miko was fast, but he was strong. Her leg came up again, and he drove the palm of his hand into her hamstring. He didn’t punch, out of fear of breaking something, and paid for it as her leg contracted and the heel of her shoe connected with his tricep. He caught it there, and she made to kick her other knee into his groin. That was kind of low, he thought, after she forbade him from hitting her in the face. He brought his left leg in front of his right, so his hip was exposed. Quicker than he would have thought possible, she reacted and brought her foot back down. But he was two steps ahead. His left leg swept hers out from under her, and he pinned her to the mat, her foot still pinned to his shoulder and his free arm pinned against her neck.

She struggled, but couldn’t get out of his grip and made a loud noise of frustration. Her body went limp, and he almost let her go before thinking better of it. She sighed and hit the mat twice in submission. He moved his arm away from her throat, then, high on victory, pecked her softly on the cheek.

“That’s three.”

She laughed hoarsely and he let go of her leg to survey the damage. Koda was still on the ground, one hand on his sternum. Junichi sat next to him, face red with exertion.

“Are you okay?” Akira asked them, trying to hide the fact that he was also breathing hard. Koda nodded. Junichi nodded. They both seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Don't get too excited,” Miko said. “I didn’t even smudge my lipstick.”

“Good for you,” he said. He tensed his leg, feeling another sting. “I don’t know which one of you did it, but you got my leg pretty good.”

Junichi raised his hand. “Good to see you’re staying humble, killer.”

“Humble? Please,” Miko stood up. “Ryo doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Really?”

“No. Not really.” She threw her sweater to the side, sports top on underneath. “He wanted you to learn Judo as a _primer_ for whatever he has in store.” She dropped into a stretch. “You fucked up my hamstring. You deserve whatever you get.”

Akira swallowed. “I guess I could use a beer, then.”

“Actually,” Koda said from where he was still sprawled on the mat, Junichi stroking his cheek. “We were not-too-politely told to return you just as sober as we found you.”

“Lightweight,” Miko scoffed. Akira fought down a blush, picturing Ryo’s blonde head on a punching bag. 

~~~~~

Ryo was sitting on the couch when he got back, crosslegged with a heavy white blanket wrapped around his body. The only visible parts of him were his head and hands, typing away as usual. His eyes were red around the rim and the skin underneath was a faint lilac. He looked so pitiful that Akira couldn’t believe he had been avoiding him for the better part of the last week.

“You’re early again,” he said softly. “Off on another bender?”

Oh, yeah, that’s why. Because he was an ass. It wasn’t the first comment he had made about that morning, but the knowledge that they would be physically fighting soon made it easier to ignore.

“You’re limping,” Ryo remarked as he moved toward his bedroom. Akira stopped, looking at his leg. He hadn’t realized it, but the sting in his leg still hadn't gone away. “Does it need to be looked at?”

“No. Old injury.” He went to his room, desperate for a shower. It seemed the price for superhuman strength was superhuman sweat. His shirt was practically damp.

He toweled off after his shower and pulled on sweatpants, ignoring his protesting leg. His phone glowed with text notifications. One was from Miki, updating him on her current situation with a mean girl at school. The phrase ‘gutter cat’ made him smile. He replied with the appropriate amount of sympathy, then looked at the text from Miko.

It was a video file. _Smile, you’re on camera_ _J_ , she had typed beneath it. He clicked. It was grainy security-cam footage of the gym. He sank to the bed, watching the fight with new eyes. Okay, maybe he had felt a little cooler than he looked, but even if he wasn’t quite the Jackie Chan he wanted to be, he had incapacitated three trained Judo fighters.

There was a knock on his door, and he dropped the phone to his bed.

“Here,” Ryo tossed him a tube of IcyHot. “This might help.”

“Thanks,” he turned it over, reading the label.

“Miki sent me this,” Ryo held his phone toward Akira. It was the same video he had just been watching.

“What did you think?” 

“I’m impressed,” he said flatly. “You’ve learned in two months what some people take years to accomplish. If you stopped now, you would be just competent as the other three combined.”

Akira waded through the words to find out what Ryo was really trying to say. He definitely wasn’t distracted by the way Ryo held the blanket around his thin frame, or how the purple bags under his eyes complimented the blue irises. Or how those eyes flicked downward to his bare chest.

“I wanted you to train me,” he said, curious at the way is voice deepened. He didn't do it on purpose. “Not Miko.”

Ryo offered him a rare smile, but it felt like more of a warning. “If you insist. Next week?”

Akira nodded. “Next week.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Surprisingly, even though he’d officially ‘moved on’ to working with Ryo – whatever that would mean – Miko still wanted him to go to the warehouse in the mornings. She said she was used to working out at the end of her day, now, and he might as well go with her. He was glad for it, because he didn’t know what he would have done with all that free time.

The more he trained with them – Miko, Koda, Junichi – the less he felt like an outsider. There was a feeling of kinship there, one he had lost after quitting track. He didn’t even think they were pretending to like him anymore. If they ever were.

And then there was Ryo.

Akira had been avoiding his dreaded Philosophy paper all week, but the deadline was closing in now. The words in the textbook blurred together when he tried to make sense of them. He knew what he had to do, but, somehow, he felt that asking Ryo for help again was some kind of concession on his part. He just didn’t know why or about what.

With a sigh, he shook his head and gathered the notes spread across his bed. He was being crazy. Ryo was trying to get inside his head – _somehow_ – and he wasn’t going to let it happen.

Akira found him on the couch, wrapped up in that blanket again. His shoulders were hunched with exhaustion, and Akira almost lost his nerve.

“This is the last of it,” Ryo said, despite the fact that Akira had yet to enter his line of sight. He held out his nearly empty glass of wine. “Unless you were looking for something stronger.”

Akira bit his tongue and strode forward, holding out the stack of notes. “Consequentialism vs. Deontological Theory.”

Ryo’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning, and he held out the wineglass in Akira’s direction as he snatched the notes away. Akira took it without thinking, red liquid swirling around like it was angry to be out of Ryo’s hand. He started to set it down on the table.

“Try it.” Ryo rifled through the papers.

“So you can make fun of me some more?”

He shrugged. “You might like it.”

Akira decided against it, and moved around the table to sit on the couch. Ryo started on his explanation, slouching down into the couch and putting two socked feet on the coffee table. As usual, his assessment was brilliant, and fast. Akira went between listening intently and just staring as Ryo’s pale hands wound through the air, expressive in a way his face almost never was. He blinked heavily, belatedly realizing the sound of Ryo’s voice was putting him to sleep, and not in a bad way.

Without quite realizing what he had done, he was horizonal on the long part of the couch, a pillow pulled under his head. If Ryo noticed or cared, he didn’t show it. He droned on in a comforting monotone. And despite the fact that Akira really should have been paying attention, he let his eyes slide shut.

~~~~~

Ryo continued to be on edge, despite their brief philosophical détente. And despite the fact that Akira had woken up on the couch alone covered in a heavy white blanket, with an outline of the basics of his assignment waiting for him in Ryo’s empty spot.

That had been days ago – and today he had borderline yelled at Akira for confusing Diogenes with Socrates. Akira’s life was difficult enough – he didn’t need a thousand crazy old men’s names to keep up with, too.

 _Any particular reason Ryo’s been PMS’ing all week?_ He sent to Miko when he was in bed that night, on the off chance she might tell him something.

 _I don’t even have time to explain all the things wrong with that sentence,_ came the quick reply. Another message buzzed through a second later. _It’s reductive and derogatory to women. Guess I had time._

He waited, but that seemed to be it.

_Sorry. You know what I mean._

She was responding quickly. Akira thought she would be working by…his eyes flicked up to the top of the screen. 11:45. Though he didn’t see Miko without a phone in her hand very often.

_The age old question._

Akira bit his lip, thinking back to Ryo’s sullen silence earlier that afternoon.

_Maybe it’s just me._

_Tip:,_ she sent back, _Asuka can’t handle his sake. This morning, for example._

 _WHAT?_ He let his phone fall to the sheets, blinking in the swirly darkness after staring at thebright screen. Ryo had come home just two hours after Akira was dropped off. He certainly didn’t seem drunk, but maybe the color in his cheeks hadn’t been from the cold…

His phone buzzed, in a frequency startlingly familiar to Miko’s voice. _Told me a lot of very interesting things…:)_

 _He likes to talk about Deontological Theory,_ Akira sent, only half joking. It wasn’t like she was going to tell him anything, anyway.

_Ew._

Akira let his screen go dark and pushed his phone to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet up to his neck with a smile. Picturing Ryo, drunk and slurring his words while talking about philosophy, was oddly funny.

~~~~~

He wasn’t sure when Ryo planned to start this new training, so it was with mild surprise that he arrived at the apartment that Friday to find the sectional had been pushed to the wall near the hallway, leaving a large open space near the window walls. One of the balcony doors was hanging open, letting in faint outside sounds of distant car horns and accelerating engines. Ryo faced a window, light bouncing sharply off of his hair.

He turned when Akira stepped in, sliding his phone in his pocket and leaning back against the glass. He heaved a sigh, as though dealing with Akira was the last thing he could be expected to do with his morning.

“How do you feel about starting now?”

“Here?”

Ryo nodded, crossing his arms. Akira walked forward, into the wide space, to stand before him. Up close, the purple hue under his eyes was visible, as well as the tension in his shoulders, face somewhere between annoyed and resigned.

“You’ve learned the basics of Judo, I suppose,” he said to the ceiling. “Remarkably well for someone who just started. There’s not much more I can teach you there, so what we’ll start with are…the _basics_ of something called _Sistema_. Have you heard of it?”

Akira shook his head.

“It’s a martial art used by the Russian army, but also recreationally all over the world. Not at all like Judo. Quite the opposite.”

He waited for Akira’s nod.

“I’ve never taught…” Ryo shook his head. “Let’s just start. Take me down.”

He took a step forward, to the middle of the room, and stopped there. Akira hesitated, unsure if he was serious. He wasn’t even in a defensive stance. And Akira…Akira felt strange doing this with Ryo. Miko, Koda…even Junichi – they were all solid and real in a way that Ryo just… _wasn’t_. Ryo was this ethereal being that seemed so… fragile. Even when he was hurling insults at you.

With another glance at the dark circles, Akira decided to go easy on him. He advanced with a feint to the left, which Ryo made no movement toward, and then dropped his elbow and swung his leg to the right – up high, aiming to hook it around Ryo’s neck. The movement would move him toward the floor, but Akira wouldn’t throw him too hard – he would land on the carpet.

Akira calculated for all of this, and yet the moment his foot was supposed to make contact with Ryo’s neck, it missed. In fact, he suddenly felt his leg moving the opposite direction, and bend in on itself. The leg that bore his weight collapsed as well, and he crumpled to the ground, stunned. It happened so quickly he had hardly seen Ryo move.

He jumped to his feet, expecting his opponent to advance. But Ryo hadn’t moved an inch. He waved Akira forward with one hand.

Confused, Akira moved again, more intently. He aimed for the knees, where it would be impossible to miss. There was a pressure on his shoulder and the back of his knee, sending him to the floor. He tried his best to understand what the hell was happening and stop it, but his next lunge ended in the exact same way. Ryo looked down at him with the barest hint of a smile. Something in Akira’s stomach seemed to flip at that.

Again and again, Akira attacked, growing less and less withholding. Again and again, he was effortlessly diverted, his efforts rendered useless. Ryo appeared to be expending minimal effort. He never uttered a sound, or broke a sweat. Even with Akira’s increased senses, he couldn’t make any headway. Which only frustrated him. It made no _sense._

The final straw was when Ryo diverted a flying kick. Akira was on top of him, and then he simply wasn’t, landing in a heap near the couch.

He jumped up with a growl. Ryo’s eyes snapped to his.

“Anger won’t help you. You have to be calm.”

“I’m calm,” Akira insisted. Ryo rolled his eyes.

“That’s enough for today.”

~~~~~

“Ryo hasn’t been sleeping,” he said, keeping pace beside Miko in the large gym. She laughed.

“You worried about him?”

Akira pushed himself so he was two steps ahead of her. “I just need to find a weakness. What’s bothering him?”

“You’re wasting your time,” she said, speeding up. “You say you couldn’t even knock him down? He must be a god.”

 _Even gods_ _bleed_ , Akira thought darkly. “Did he tell you what his…plan is? With me?”

“I guess that depends on your meaning.”

Ryo looked even worse that day.

“You don’t look so good,” Akira said bluntly, meeting him in the middle of the living room.

“Then this should be easy for you,” Ryo answered smoothly. Mocking him. Akira wished his concern wasn’t so overshadowed by annoyance.

“I don’t think you can fight,” he tried, watching Ryo’s body language closely.

Something in his shoulders shifted. “What gives you that impression?”

“Yesterday, all you did was redirect my momentum. That’s not _fighting_.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that it’s purely defensive. Theoretically speaking, you’d never… _win_.”

Ryo started walking sideways. Without thinking, Akira mirrored him, so they circled each other. He couldn’t really tell if he was making him mad or not, but this was the first time Ryo had done anything but just stand in one spot.

“Is that what you want?” Ryo asked. “To win?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Theoretically speaking.”

“I guess I do.” Akira said. He tried to think of what Ryo wanted him to say. What Ryo’s answer would be, if asked. “Doesn’t everyone?”

A line formed between Ryo’s brows, and then he lunged. Akira reacted out of instinct, and found himself being pulled in by the elbow, right toward the kick aimed at his stomach. Ryo watched him coldly as he landed on his back.

So much for that idea. Akira was totally out of his league here. He got back up and went as hard as he could, trying everything to get _one_ hit in. Not even just with Judo – outright punches didn’t work, either. The only time he actually came close was when he adjusted a fall to not land on his bad leg, and made Ryo roll his ankle.

“Sorry,” he said automatically.

Ryo didn’t answer, but his attacks became a little faster, a little more painful.

“I don’t understand,” Akira said a while later, stepping back. Giving up.

“Kuroda was too easy on you,” Ryo said dryly. “You want everything explained.”

“I’m not a mind reader!”

“We’re done,” he said dismissively.

After a moment, Akira followed him to the kitchen, watching him uncork a wine bottle. Some of the worry ebbed back, hard as he tried to ignore it.

“Have you even eaten today?”

Ryo took a large swig. “How did you do on that paper?”

“I did fine.” Akira looked into the fridge. “I’ll get out with a decent grade.”

“We can do better than decent,” Ryo said, voice fading down the hall. Akira heard the balcony door open. He abandoned his plan for onigiri and quickly prepared two ham, turkey and cheese sandwiches, fitting as many vegetables and condiments as he could. More than once, he wondered _why_ he felt the need to do this, exactly, but introspection was getting more and more dangerous as the days went by.

It was a chilly day, but the sun was out. He faltered upon seeing clothes slung over a pool chair.

“What now?” Ryo asked petulantly. He floated in the water, wine bottle in hand and thankfully wearing underwear. Akira set down the plates and dangled his feet in the water. It was cold.

He hadn’t seen Ryo shirtless before. It was strange to see his actual shape, the one always hidden underneath baggy clothes. His movements were fluid, subtle muscle definition rippling as he waded over to Akira, curious. There was definitely a musculature there, but he was still sort of gangly. It didn’t explain why Akira was unable to overpower him.

“You expect me to eat this?”

“Yes,” Akira said, pushing the plate over. Ryo set down the bottle, a miracle in its own right, and picked at the food. The light caught a mark on his inner elbow, and Akira tried to examine it without craning his neck. It was different from Miko’s; there were four legs scratched jaggedly into the skin, but he couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be.

Ryo ate. There was a comfortable quiet between them, broken only by swishing water and far-off city sounds.

The sun beat on his back, and soon he was sweating. He finished eating long before Ryo, who, as he remembered, took weirdly dainty bites of food. He pulled his shirt over his head and slid into the pool, taking the wine with him. It was only chest deep, but the cool water felt nice against his tired body.

The wine, though, was sharp and bitter and made him cough. Ryo smirked at him, leaving their empty plates behind and sinking low. “Don’t like it?”

“I thought it would be sweet,” Akira admitted, downing another gulp. It burned but also went to his head quite pleasantly. He handed the bottle back over and walked to the edge, peering through the glass at the cityscape. It was so beautiful. Right there, but so far away.

The closest he ever got was during the morning drive to the warehouse. He hadn’t been anywhere but there and here for weeks. He should be more bothered by that, he thought. Sometimes it felt like he was in a sort of limbo. But even though there was a lot of fear, and anxiety, and change…life had never excited him in this way.

“I’ve been working more.”

He blinked, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“Between that and helping you, there hasn’t been much time for sleep,” Ryo explained, leaning back against the corner. “Not nearly enough hours in the day.”

“I didn’t know,” Akira said, feeling guilty. At least Ryo wasn’t sick or something. “Why are you working so much?”

“I have a trip coming up. I need to make sure everything is in order to run smoothly in my absence.”

“You’re leaving?” Akira tried to sound natural, tried not to think of empty nights, being alone in the cavernous apartment. And even though the sky stretched wide and blue above them, claustrophobia tickled the back of his neck.

“In three weeks.” Ryo paused, taking a sip. “Miki very much wants you to come with.”

“Don’t do that,” Akira said. It came out harsh and flat.

“What am I doing?”

“Don’t invite me as a joke. It’s mean.”

Ryo tilted his head. “I’m not joking. Do you want to come or not?”

“Where are you going?”

“Shirahama beach. We rent a house out once a year.”

Well, that wasn’t far. But for some reason, his brain caught unpleasantly on the _we_.

“You and…Miko?” He asked hesitantly.

“And Junichi and Koda.”

Akira turned and faced the city, thinking. Did he really have a choice? Or was the invitation just a show. Maybe they needed to get him out of town so they could…

Something cold touched his back, and he jumped. Ryo had crossed the pool, holding out the nearly empty bottle. Their fingers brushed as Akira took it.

“You’re inviting me because I can’t be left alone, aren’t you?”

Ryo looked irritated for a split second, then his face went overly-solemn.

“Akira Fudo, I would be _extremely_ honored if you would join us. _Nothing_ would make me – “

“Alright.” Akira splashed him, laughing in spite of himself. “I get the point. But my finals are in three weeks.”

“And they’re online.”

“That’s a good point.”

Ryo smiled as Akira drained the bottle. “It’ll be fun.”

But he hadn’t really answered the question.

When Akira went inside to shower, it was with extra energy. Having something to look forward to did that. So did the wine. He fiddled with the dials to get the right temperature, and by the time he got out was almost sober.

He dug for clothes, as was custom. Every week or so, whatever he left piled on the floor disappeared and returned, clean, the next morning. Ryo didn’t look like someone who knew how to do laundry, so Akira was sure he had a maid or something come in while the apartment was empty.

Caught up on homework for the day, he had nothing to do but go sit in the living room with Ryo. He pulled the blanket over his body and looked at the television.

“Do you ever watch anything that’s _not_ news?”

Ryo glanced over. His cheeks were flushed with what Akira now recognized was a wine blush – he got it sometimes, after two glasses. It was…it was nice, Akira thought. It made him look even younger.

The television flicked over to a grainy show, in a language that Akira was pretty sure was Russian.

“Are there subtitles?” He asked, wanting to be interested.

“No.”

“Translate for me.”

Ryo’s nose wrinkled delicately. “That’s hard.”

Akira let the silence linger, knowing that Ryo would never own up to not being able to do something. Sure enough, after an annoyed sigh, Ryo curled his feet underneath himself and started to talk over the show.

~~~~~

“Again.”

Akira forced himself to his feet, running at Ryo for the umpteenth time, only to be viciously thrown to the floor. It didn’t seem to matter what he did, or how hard he tried – the floor never got softer.

If he had made any kind of breakthrough with Ryo the day before, it was long gone. Drinking, watching bad TV. Falling asleep next to each other on the couch. If anything, Ryo was being even _worse._

“I can’t believe you keep doing the same thing,” he said brusquely as Akira shook out his arm. “Use your head.”

“I am,” Akira growled, “ _literally_ using my head.”

The circles under Ryo’s eyes were very faint now that he’d gotten a few hours of sleep, but exhaustion hung on every line of his body. It made it all the more infuriating that Akira couldn’t _do_ anything. He circled Ryo and tried to rush him from behind. He hadn’t done that yet, because it didn’t seem fair. Well, he was angry enough to try now.

Of course it made no difference. A millisecond before contact, Ryo pivoted in a move of footwork that was very Judo-like and a series of hits pushed Akira down on one knee, facing a completely different direction.

Ryo only got more impatient as Akira tried over and over again, making snide little comments that had Akira’s blood boiling. But he did his best to stay calm and not give voice to any of his own thoughts.

After a failed attempt at a spin-kick to the shins, Ryo punched him. It happened at an odd angle, and Ryo didn’t seem to gear up to it, so Akira was caught off guard. He’d never seen anyone punch with their fist to the _side_ of their body like that…so there was no physical explanation for how it instantaneously sent Akira crashing to the ground. The sheer force of it was startling, and for a horrible moment, he could not draw breath. It _hurt_.

“Breathe,” Ryo commanded, watching him. 

Akira tried in vain to suck air into his lungs, wondering if he would pass out. Slowly, painfully, the sensation faded.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Akira yelled, when he could. The sudden fury came from somewhere dark and angry, bursting forward after days of repression.

Ryo’s eyes went wide for a second. His hands twitched into fists. “You must be joking.”

“You _punched_ me!”

“No, Akira, you _let_ me punch you.”

Akira got to his feet, chest aching, and stomped toward his room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ryo yelled after him.

~~~~~

“What did you _do_ to him?” Miko asked the moment Akira got into the car the next morning. “Do you have any idea what I went through last night?”

“No,” Akira said, staring out the window.

“He came to _my_ house and shouted nonsense about you all night. While drinking _all_ of my whisky.”

“It was my whisky, actually,” Koda said. She shushed him, turning to look at Akira.

“I didn’t do anything to him.” But if he was that mad, then _good._

“You walked out of practice!”

Akira sighed. “He punched me.”

“I punch you every day,” Miko said flatly. “He said you yelled at him.”

“Then he’s a liar!”

“Enough,” Koda snapped at them.

Miki managed to stay quiet for all of one hour. She waited until Akira was trapped under a heavy barbell before springing on him.

“You have to fix this before we all go to the beach.”

“I’ve probably been uninvited,” he said. She jerked his weight back onto the rack. “Not that it was a real invitation, anyway.”

“Let’s not make it a pity party, Fudo. You’re going. I would have told you about it myself if he wasn’t such a control freak.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you really yell at him?”

Koda made an exasperated noise from somewhere to Akira’s left. He pulled the weight back down and did more repetitions, trying to distract himself. Sleep hadn’t come easy last night, after all that. He kept trying to figure out exactly why he was so mad, but each conclusion was more disturbing than the last.

“Why do you guys go to the beach in winter, anyway?”

“Less tourists,” Miko said. “The onsen is nice, too.”

“But you can’t go swimming.”

“You can if you’re not _weak_ ,” Koda snickered. For some reason, that really bothered Miko. Akira lost his spotter for a few seconds and heard them tussling.

“She’s mad because she can never do it,” he told Akira, appearing over him. “The water will be freezing. It’s fun.”

After the ice baths, Akira knew exactly how wrong that statement really was. An onsen sounded nice, though. He’d never been to one.

 _And you still never might_ , he reminded himself. Right. The wrath of Ryo.

His anxiety spiked as he rode the elevator up, but it was all for nothing. Ryo wasn’t even there. Akira let out a breath and went to make his lunch. Later, he heard Ryo walking around, but knew he was being staunchly ignored. That was probably the best he could hope for. Even if part of him wished Ryo would just yell at him instead of running to Miko to complain.

The next day, just as he was starting to wonder if Ryo would ever speak to him again, he found Ryo waiting for him. His arms were crossed, face impassive. Akira braced himself for the worst, dropping his bag and kicking off his shoes.

Ryo didn’t say anything until Akira had close the distance between them, standing nervously.

“Punch me."

Akira blinked, shocked. “What?”

“Wherever you want.” Ryo’s gaze was even. “I won’t stop you.”

So this is how Ryo planned to get back at him. Akira bristled, exhausted with it. More head games. There was no way Ryo was _actually_ about to let himself get punched. It was stupid, and childish, and Akira just wanted it over.

So he swung.

Ryo staggered to the side as fist met cheekbone. Horror exploded like a flash-bomb in Akira’s head, and he just barely stopped the frantic _sorry_ at the tip of his tongue.

Ryo took a deep breath and turned to face Akira. The skin over his cheek had split, and was starting to ooze blood. It must have hurt, but he didn’t show a flicker of emotion. Akira fought to control his own expression.

“I did say _wherever_ ,” Ryo muttered, touching his cheek ruefully. His voice was rough, eyes dark as he turned them to Akira’s. “If you walk away from me again before I call it, I won’t do this for you anymore.”

Akira could only nod.

“Let’s start, then.”

There was a new level of intensity as they ‘sparred’. Something had changed, been knocked loose. He started making headway. Getting Ryo off his center. Never directly pinning him, but getting him to a second set of movements past just outward defense. Akira was still ending up on the floor, but he wasn’t so angry anymore.

The cut continued to bleed, until it dripped onto Ryo’s collar and Akira got blood on his hands. If he was trying to get under Akira’s skin by letting himself bleed, it worked. Akira was distracted, and Ryo got in another one of those strange punches, in the same spot as yesterday. It drove Akira down to his knees, and he tried to suppress the wave of anger that came with the startling pain. When it passed, he started to stand up.

Another hit. To the same damn spot. Ryo watched him collapse again with a cold, cruel expression.

“H-How are you doing it?” Akira asked a moment later, getting to his feet. Ryo’s fist struck out, but Akira had seen it coming. By some flash of instinct, he caught the fist in his hand and pushed. Ryo fell back a step, caught Akira’s hand in his other, and yanked at the same time a foot kicked Akira’s legs out. Akira was falling, but he used the momentum of it to lock all four of their hands together and flip Ryo right over him.

They both hit the ground, and Akira let himself enjoy a surge of victory. It took a breath or two for him to realized that he still had Ryo’s hands clamped between his.

“That was almost good,” Ryo said, grimacing.

Akira climbed to his feet, blushing. “Almost?”

“Brute force doesn’t equal skill, I’m afraid.” Ryo’s white shirt was bloodstained, and the cut was still bleeding, but he smiled. Akira was almost scared of the change in mood, even if he welcomed it.

“I want to know how you punch like that,” he said. Ryo nodded curtly. He was starting to look even paler than usual.

“We’ll get to it.” He stood up and waved Akira to approach him. “Again.”

~~~~~

Practice was difficult the next morning. Akira couldn’t stop thinking about Ryo’s bleeding face. It landed him in a lot of hurt while they sparred, but Miki and Junichi didn’t question him about it. At first. He didn’t know if they knew about the punch, which they must have if they saw Ryo at all.

“How’s it going with him?” She finally asked, while sparring. “Did you kiss and make-up?”

“Yes,” Akira said, catching her leg and pushing her back. The look of shock on her face was really entertaining. “He’s not mad anymore, I mean.”

She made a frustrated noise. “You get off so easy. I swear, it’s because you’re hot.”

“Excuse me?”

Junichi crossed his arms in mock-offense. “What am I, chopped liver?”

She gave him a knowing look. “Exactly. I just think we _all_ know that I would get away with a lot more if he found _me_ adorable.”

A flash of anger heated Akira’s stomach. “Maybe it’s because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

She winked at him. He threw her into Junichi, knocking them both to the mat.

~~~~~

Ryo’s cheek was purple and blue for a few days, marring his face. It looked worse than it should, because it was Ryo. He wasn’t the type of person you saw beat up and bruised. Neither of them brought up what had happened, but it was always there. A strange guilt coursed through Akira every time he saw it, even if doing it had been kind of exhilarating.

Training with him was discouraging, to say the least. After such quick progress in everything else, Akira felt stuck and beyond frustrated. Only after about a week did anything change. Ryo seemed different as he instructed Akira to stand still, circling him slowly. Akira shifted self-consciously.

“You’re still too tense. This would be easier if you kept your limbs relaxed.”

Akira took a deep breath, trying to do exactly that. It was incredibly difficult, when he couldn’t even see Ryo. He jumped when two hands smoothed across the lines of his shoulders, pushing down. “Shoulders down, hands open.” One cold hand pried Akira’s out of a fist. Something in the room seemed to shift, and Akira had half a mind to run away from it, give up before it started. “Breathe deeply.”

Akira closed his eyes. Ryo pulled his hands away, and didn’t say anything for a while. Akira focused on the _in_ and _out_ of the air in his lungs, feeling the tension bleed out of his body. He had to trust that Ryo wouldn’t hurt him while his guard was down. It was easier than he expected.

He opened his eyes at the sound of a throat clearing.

“Ready?”

He nodded. There was an instant pressure on his shoulder and his knee was knocked out before he could even think to lock it. Being so relaxed only made him fall harder. Fucking hell. Ryo helped him up, which quelled a little bit of the confused anger. They stood so close that Ryo had to look up at him.

“Tell me how I did that.”

Akira shook his head, keeping his lips tightly shut to keep from saying something he would regret. Ryo sighed.

“Shoulders.” Two hands pushed Akira’s shoulders back slowly but firmly. “Elbow.” Within the movement, Ryo slid one foot forward while pulling slightly at Akira’s arm, turning so he was standing behind Akira. “Neck.” One hand fitted under Akira’s jaw. “Waist.” The other rested on his hip. Ryo exerted pressure on both, and Akira started to tip to the side. Then Ryo bent his knee, which in turn bent Akira’s, and tipped him further. It was slow, almost like a dance. But not the dances he did with the others. This was like ballet. It made his heart race. He put his weight on the other leg, determined not to fall.

“Knee and ankle,” Ryo said next. His hand pushed Akira’s neck as his knee bent further, and then it was either fall or break his ankle. He fell.

“Those are the six body levers. If you can control them, you’ll always have the upper hand.”

Akira got to his feet, intrigued. Ryo took his hand and positioned it like Akira was swinging a fist.

“Move this like you’re hitting me. I’m sure you’re familiar.”

He smirked to show he was joking. Ignoring the heat in his face, Akira moved his arm slowly toward Ryo’s cheek. Blue eyes tracked his movement carefully.

“Elbow.” He swept Akira’s inner arm away with his left forearm. “Shoulder.” His other arm latched on to Akira’s shoulder. “Knee and ankle.”

Akira fell again. Now that Ryo was moving slow enough for him to understand, it was actually almost interesting. Still infuriating, but at least it was something new.

“How am I supposed to combat that?’ 

“Be faster than me,” Ryo smiled wryly.

Akira exhaled his frustrations. “Show me again.”

The rest of that day was mostly slow-motion. Ryo demonstrated a myriad of defense moves that all hinged around the six levers. It was exhausting work, all repetition, but Akira was glad for all those days of fall practice. After almost two hours, he was breathing hard and even Ryo looked flushed.

“Do you want to try to block me now?” Ryo asked. Akira nodded hesitantly. “Alright. If I kick?”

He kicked out before finishing the sentence. Akira struck his knee, throwing off his footing. He whispered the levers to himself as they went on with different positions. He never managed to make Ryo collapse like he had, but when they switched back and started going at full speed, he was staying up for longer.

Ryo stopped suddenly and wiped at his forehead, making a face. “We’re finished. I hate sweating.”

While he went to shower, Akira stumbled into his own bathroom and shut the door, numb with relief. He was overheating again – like that time in his apartment. It had started slowly, and he wasn’t aware something was wrong until that last time Ryo dropped him. He wanted to run away the entire time, but he didn’t want to start another fight.

He fumbled with the shower knobs, stepping under ice cold water and gasping for air. Everything felt strange. Sensitive. Only, unlike before, he thought he knew what the catalyst was. He wasn’t even sure if it had to do with the serum anymore.

When the aching erection didn’t go away on its own, he touched his fingers to it. Waves of pleasure almost brought him to his knees. It had been so long since he’d even _wanted_ to let off steam like this, and after one pump of his fist his brain took control. A hand on his neck, his hip. Pressure. Carefully controlled strength.

Hooded blue eyes and bony shoulders under a white blanket.

He finished quickly, with a muffled gasp. The usual guilt and shame magnified a thousand-fold and he dropped his head to the tile wall, defeated. It was Ryo. Of course it was. It wasn’t even so surprising, honestly. It had been there for a while, but he’d never given in to it like this.

Nail, meet coffin.

He felt a little sick, actually. There was something nebulous and tender sitting at the base of his stomach, and he had no choice but to kill it dead. It would only be pain otherwise, right? Ryo would never…they would never…

 _Don’t think about it,_ he commanded himself. _You’re not allowed to._

His self-discipline had come a long way. It would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially caught up with my year old writing lol i wonder if you can tell the difference. I may or may not have gotten worse at writing but either way I hope you all still like the story!


	8. Chapter Eight

By the next week, he was able to block Ryo’s attacks with the moves he had slowly learned. It was all about fluidity – moving with your attacker until you could reach the levers and dismantle their form. It made some amount of sense, Akira supposed, that Ryo had mastered what had to be the most pretentious form of martial art.

The goal was to knock Ryo down. Neither one of them said it, but Akira got the sense that he wouldn’t be learning anything else until he managed that. He could at least understand what Ryo had meant about being tense – it was very hard to manipulate his loose limbs.

And that’s what distracted him more than anything else – Ryo’s body. The way it moved was fascinating. There was an almost supernatural grace to it, and nowhere that he protected, like Miko with her face. Akira attacked his knees, his chest, his groin. He just defended himself calmly and efficiently, never slipping up.

His attitude made him seem invincible, but Akira knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. The long-faded mark on his face was proof of that.

Something Akira still felt horrible about.

Ever since that shower, it was like the floodgates had opened. Now that he understood his feelings, they ran wild. He stopped going out of his way to talk to Ryo, guilt consuming him whenever their eyes met. Even worse, he was touching himself almost every day now, the feverish warmth spreading across his skin every time Ryo touched him or hit him or spoke his name.

Luckily, Ryo didn’t seem to care about Akira’s withdrawal. He didn’t even notice. The week before the trip, he was frosty and distant anyway, dark circles back with a vengeance.

Akira was more drawn to him than ever.

“I assure you, the floor isn’t going anywhere,” Ryo said, jaw tight. “You don’t have to keep checking on it.”

Akira got to his feet and circled him, calculating. Sometimes, like now, when they had been going at each other for over an hour and Ryo was really starting to sweat, his mask would slip. Minute expressions of anger and anticipation became visible, and Akira thought he might be starting to understand.

They’d been in the Sistema groove for a while now, a stalemate that Akira didn't think would be ending anytime soon. He felt like he had the ins and outs of the six levers down pretty well, but it wasn’t helping him any. He wanted to try something different.

He managed to get Ryo’s arm twisted back. Blue eyes narrowed slightly. That was focus – Ryo knew he could get out of it, and easily. Akira let him, drawing back long enough for Ryo to regain his footing. Then, in a burst of energy, he channeled his strength up through his feet, hips and shoulders into his forearm, shoving against Ryo’s chest.

Ryo wasn’t prepared for it, as evidenced by his miniscule gasp of pain. It wouldn’t have knocked him back, though. Akira’s foot did that. He hooked it around Ryo’s ankle as he stumbled and yanked. Ryo fell, hard, to the ground, and stayed there. They both breathed for a moment, the silence sudden and sharp. Akira could see surprise and anger on Ryo’s face. Surprise, he expected. But the anger stung a little. Did Ryo really never expect him to improve?

He sighed and, almost thinking better of it, held out a hand. Ryo’s was warm and damp as Akira hauled him up.

“Good,” Ryo said, pulling his hand out of Akira’s quickly and wiping it on his shorts. His face was blank again. “We’ll pick up after holiday.”

“What, that’s it?” Akira asked, exasperated. “’Good’? That’s all I get?”

Ryo glanced back at him with an almost imperceptible smile, then he was gone. A wave of arousal swept over Akira. He hated himself. He hated how he couldn’t control his own body anymore. Or his brain, for that matter. He went to his room, shut the door, and laid down against the cold bathroom floor. Not the shower. He knew what would happen if he got in the shower.

So he ignored the heat in his stomach and focused on the victory. Looking at Ryo, one wouldn’t think knocking him to the ground was such an accomplishment. Yet every touch vibrated with a quiet strength that was exhilarating and terrifying. Knocking him to the ground. Every so often helping him back up...

Another flash of heat. He was useless.

They would be leaving soon, and he wondered how hard it would be to hide his predicament once he was sharing a room with Miko. The disturbing thought reminded him that he had yet to pack a bag. He allowed his old apartment a passing thought. It surprised him how little he missed it, and that added to his already heavy guilt. His parents were still paying for it, weren’t they? What would they think about his predicament?

Maybe it wouldn't matter, in the end. He knew this couldn’t last forever.

~~~~~

They were on the road around four. There was definitely an air of excitement, but Akira knew he had his finals to worry about for the next two days before he could have any real fun. He sat in the back of the black van, behind Ryo in the driver’s seat and next to Junichi and Koda. Miko hung her feet out the window and made them listen to poppy Korean music.

She adamantly refused to roll the window up, so Akira couldn’t study for fear of his notes flying around. He tried to make himself as small as possible so Junichi wouldn’t feel cramped, watching the city fade. The first of the holiday decorations were appearing in storefronts, and Akira felt very apart from them. Like he wasn’t a member of society anymore, seasons and holidays coming and going in the background.

It was a long drive. They only stopped twice for gas, plus one extra so Miko could use the restroom. The others talked about work things in obvious code while Akira stared through the window. He made a game of counting how many questions were directed at Ryo versus how many he actually answered.

The entire last hour of the drive was down the coast, chasing the sunset. It was beautiful. Rich colors mixed with the faint smell of salt, triggering old memories. He would have made the drive before, even for a day, if he thought his car could have made it. He hadn’t been to the beach since sophomore year of high school. It had ended badly for him and worse for Akiko, but he didn’t figure sunscreen was much of a December worry.

The score was 24 – 8 around the time Ryo took a turn away from the coastline. They left the freeway for a series of high-rise condominiums and touristy-looking shops. There were more people than Akira would have expected, but he wouldn’t exactly call it _busy_. As those buildings gave way to smaller individual houses, the ocean glinted in the distance, as the last rays of sunlight passed over the horizon. Miki would have loved it.

“We’re close,” Miko said, eyes scanning the houses. “Oh! There!”

“Finally,” Ryo murmured, pulling into the drive. They filed out of the car, stretching and groaning. Akira stared up at the house. It wasn’t huge, but it seemed plenty big for four people. Certainly expensive, in a neighborhood like this. The windows glowed invitingly, like someone had left the lights on just for them.

 _“Hitomi!”_ Miko called, tossing Akira a white duffel bag. He groaned inwardly. His requests to return to his apartment to pack a bag had been deterred, and although that set off alarm bells in the back of his head, it had been Ryo in nothing but a robe and underwear that had done the deterring. And anyway, Miko claimed to have packed a bag for him already. Only God knew what horrors lied within.

She hefted her own two bags over her shoulders and grinned at him, sunglasses glinting in the house lights. Her breath puffed into clouds in the cold air. “I guess I should call you _nakama_ now, huh? Roomie, at the very least.”

“Or his _name_ ,” Koda drawled, knocking her shoulder as he went past. She stuck her tongue out. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

They all looked tired, he noticed, despite the early hour. It was only seven, but he reminded himself that they were all mostly nocturnal and hadn’t slept that day. The promise of warm beds had them shuffling toward the front door.

Akira found himself hanging back, waiting as Ryo pulled his bag from the trunk.

“It takes a day or two to adjust,” Ryo said, noticing him. The trunk closed with a _bang_. “We’ll be zombies until then.”

Akira raised his eyebrows. Ryo was pretty much always a zombie. “Duly noted.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Ryo’s face. They strolled up the walk together, Ryo stopping at the door and glancing sharply over his shoulder at the street.

“What is it?” Akira asked instinctively, turning his back to the wall. The focused, searching look disappeared from Ryo’s face and he shrugged. Akira watched him as he flipped up a small panel and typed in a series of numbers.

“I’ll send the code to you,” he said, pushing the door open. “Though I don’t expect Kuroda will let you go anywhere alone.”

 _Not that you'll want to,_ he left unsaid.

The gust of warm air drew Akira inside with a sigh of relief. He dropped his bag at the bottom of a steep staircase and looked around. It was lovely. Everything seemed to be made of a fine, polished wood. The kitchen appliances all looked expensive and easily breakable, but something in the design made the space feel lived in and homey. It bled easily into a small sitting area, brimming with cushiony couches and chairs.

The sound of clinking glass was louder than the excited voices. Akira leaned against the banister and watched Miko unload bottle after bottle from one of her bags he’d assumed was full of clothes. Some were mixers; soda and juice and tonic water. The vast majority appeared to be every kind of alcohol in the imagination.

Ryo sat at the bamboo-topped island, drawing one foot under him on a spindly stool. Long fingers turned a silver bottle as he examined the label. Akira walked over, curious.

“You found it.”

“Wasn’t easy,” Junichi said with a note of pride, bouncing on the balls of his feet next to Miko.

“What is it?” Akira peered over Ryo’s shoulder, searching for any Japanese among the English words.

“Rum. From America.” Ryo unscrewed the top and held it up. Akira sniffed hesitantly. It burned his nose the way all alcohol did, but underneath there was a pleasant aroma of coconut. He looked up in time to catch Miko and Junichi meeting eyes and suppressing smiles. He narrowed his eyes at them.

“I didn’t pack my goddamn phone charger,” Koda groused, descending the steps.

“I _told_ you to pack it last night,” Junichi sighed. “You can use mine tonight.”

Ryo checked his phone. “It’s not too late to go to the store.”

“We can go tomorrow.” Miko started pulling small, crystalline glasses from her bag. “It’s time for shots.”

Akira’s stomach twisted. “I should get to studying.”

“You’re taking a shot with us," she insisted.

“It’s _tradition_ ,” Junichi added. Koda nodded his agreement.

“No, really…“ he started, quickly losing steam. He didn’t need to be distracted tonight, when he was already so behind on cramming. But Miko crossed her arms and set her hip to the side in a way that told him he wasn’t getting out of it.

“Fine,” he relented. He took the silvery bottle from Ryo’s hands and downed two gulps. The first one was perfunctory, but the second came from a sudden flash of bravado as Junichi and Miko both inhaled sharply. Almost like he’d done something wrong. But Ryo’s mouth was tilted up, and if Akira didn’t know better he’d say he almost looked impressed.

“That didn’t count,” Miko's eyes cut between them as Ryo took the bottle back.

“It totally counted,” he argued, throat burning.

With an air of finality, Ryo reached to pull over two of the shot glasses, pouring a little of the clear liquid into both. Akira tried not to roll his eyes.

“A toast,” Koda announced, holding up his own glass. His had something blue in it. “To a week without work, or stress, or _consequences_.”

Junichi coughed to cover a laugh, amused at some inside joke. Then he held his glass up.

“To a week without a schedule.”

Miko stuck hers up. It was filled to the brim with amber liquid. “To my tits – may they not see another sports bra for seven days _at least_. To my liver, for its sacrifices. And to my ears, for what they will inevitably hear my friends doing to each other in the night.”

Akira opened his mouth, oddly sure that that had been directed at him, but Koda and Junichi snickered and elbowed each other guiltily. He snapped his mouth closed as Ryo raised his glass.

“To friends. Old and new.”

And then everyone was looking at Akira. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. Tradition, Junichi had said. One that they were suddenly including him in. Would he be here, the next year? Certainly not. They will have long forgotten about him by then. It made him sad, but he looked into blue eyes and decided not to dwell on it. Ryo had called him a friend. That had to count for something.

“To my grades,” he said lamely. There was a cheer as they clinked their glasses together. This shot went down easier, spreading warmth instead of burning.

“Hot tub time?” Miko asked, slamming her glass down.

“There’s a _hot tub_?” Akira asked, in spite of himself. Junichi led him to a curtained door off the living room, pulling the drapes back. Akira peered through the glass at the enclosed area. The tub was bigger than any he’d ever seen, casting swirling blue reflections on the wood paneled walls. Steam rose from the surface and dispersed into the dark sky.

Miko pushed past them, stripping to her underwear. He took that as his cue, ducking away as Junichi followed suit. His bag had disappeared, so he’d get started in whichever room Koda had tossed it into. He and Miko were sharing a room, but if she continued drinking like she was he doubted she’d make it upstairs at all.

“Do you need anything?”

Akira turned around on the steps, surprised. Ryo just looked calmly up at him, like it wasn’t completely out of character for him to voluntarily speak to Akira not once, but twice in one night.

“No,” he said. Ryo’s shoulders slumped a little. “I mean, I wouldn't want to take you away from…that.”

A fair amount of splashing and yelling drifted in through the open door. It sounded like a good time.

“Good night, then,” Ryo said, face guarded. He sauntered out of view, leaving Akira alone and unbalanced.

~~~~~

Completely frazzled, he shut his computer. His first two tests were done with, but he didn’t feel any better than before. At least it had been quiet. It was nearing noon, and still no one seemed to be awake.

Miko had come to bed after all, dropping onto their shared mattress with wet hair and little more than a towel. There had barely been enough room for him to crawl under the covers and curl in on himself. He was a little embarrassed at how long he lay awake, worried at every sound inside the house and out. If everyone was passed out drunk like Miko, what would happen if they were attacked?

His eyes desperately wanted to close, even while taking his tests. He’d grown too dependent on Ryo’s coffee. He shifted on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back and staring at the sliver of cloudy sky visible through the patio door. He’d been shut up with his headphones in, but the state of the house suggested quite the night. Clothes littered the place, and there were still half-full glasses of mixed drinks laying around. The hot tub appeared to have lost half its water. They'd definitely be zombies after all that.

If there had been any food in the house, he was sure there would have been a mess in the kitchen, as well. As it was, his stomach was so empty it hurt. He scrolled through the notes he wouldn’t need anymore until there were near silent footsteps on the stairs.

Ryo was fully dressed, in a drapey blue sweater Akira hadn’t seen before. It was the exact color of his eyes.

He ignored Akira, halfway to the coffeemaker before stopping cold. “No coffee.”

“No coffee,” Akira echoed, stretching. His stomach complained again. “No anything.”

Ryo opened an empty cabinet, as if some groceries would magically appear.

“There’s a coffee place around the corner. I could use extra hands.”

It took Akira a moment to realize that it was an invitation. Pins and needles prickled at his feet as he rose to get his coat.

In the cold daylight, he could see that the other houses sat empty. Only a scarce few had cars parked in the drive. It was quiet enough that he thought he could hear the ocean.

“You didn’t change clothes,” Ryo remarked.

“I’m too scared to see what Miko packed for me.”

Ryo didn’t seem to have anything else to say on the matter. They turned at the end of the neighborhood, which seemed more populated. Maybe this street was closer to the water. There was one building tucked among the houses that looked more administrative. He read the sign as they walked past – half of the building belonged to the landlords of the condominiums. The other half was a bodega like the ones in downtown Tokyo.

It was small and quaint inside. A teenage boy stood sleepily at the counter, looking up from his book as they walked in.

“Asuka-san! You’re here already?”

“Seems that way.” Ryo leaned against the counter genially. “How have you been, Shizuo?”

The boy gave Akira a little bow, acknowledging his presence. “Bored. This has been the slowest break yet.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

  
Shizuo smiled. “What can I get you?”

Ryo tapped his chin. “Do you still do that cold brew with honey?”

“Sure do.”

“I’ll have one of those, a latte, and two black.” He turned to Akira.

“Um, the cold brew thing.”

Shizuo nodded and turned to the wall of machinery. Akira browsed a stand of newspapers and magazines. He was once again struck with the odd sensation of being an outsider to current events. Maybe he should pay more attention to the news Ryo was always watching.

Clouds had gathered by the time they left. They said their goodbyes to Shizuo, who waved after them cheerily. Akira balanced the drink holder in his hands while Ryo sipped his cold brew idly, feeling more like a pack mule than ‘extra hands’.

“When is your Philosophy exam?”

“It was this morning.”

Ryo shot him a look. “Why didn’t you say anything? I could have helped?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad it’s over.”

He ignored Ryo’s dark looks. After seeing the state Miko was in, he’d be damned if he tried to wake Ryo up. And using him would have felt like cheating, a little. It had been a grueling test, even if it was open note, but at least his grade would be his own.

The coffee was good – great, even. He downed half of it at once, sitting back at the coffee table and gathering his materials for the next two exams. Journalism would be difficult. He could hear voices upstairs as Ryo made rounds with the coffee, and after a little while everyone convened in the kitchen for a food trip. Except Miko. She’d collapsed onto the couch and pulled a pillow over her face. At least she’d put some clothes on.

He pulled the first two things he touched from the bag, surprised when they made a suitable outfit. Miko wouldn’t budge when they tried to wake her back up, so Akira left the coffee within reach and they went without her.

~~~~~

After two days of tests and generally being left out of the fun, Akira found himself anxious to do something he enjoyed. It felt good to run outside, in the cold. He glanced back at Ryo, who was lagging. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t alone, and there weren’t so many people around, but he didn’t feel panicked at being out in the open.

“Tired?” Akira asked, jogging backwards. Oranges and reds of the sunset reflected in Ryo’s hair. He’d slowed since they reached the sand.

“Too much…” Ryo stopped and put his hands to his hips, breathing hard. “Too much to drink last night.”

Akira rolled his eyes and walked to the edge of the waves while Ryo caught his breath. The water was freezing against his fingers.

“We’re really going to swim in this tomorrow?”

“Across,” Ryo said, pointing a finger. The bay was wide, forming a horseshoe shape with rock formations along the outer edges. The path Ryo drew would lead them from one side to the other, across the entire bay. Akira’s mouth fell open.

“You do _not_ swim that far.”

“It’s challenging, I won’t lie.”

“It must be so deep out there!” Akira cried. “What about sharks?”

Ryo shrugged, eyes glinting with humor. Akira looked away from him, sitting in the sand. He wanted to swim right now – the water sparkled with a thousand colors. But the temperature was dropping and what little sweat he’d accumulated was turning cold on his skin.

Ryo sat down next to him, and then fell back onto the sand. Akira stared, unable to believe Ryo would do anything so undignified as getting _sand_ in his hair. On top of admitting he was winded. Akira copied him, staring up at the cherry-pink clouds drifting overhead. He wove his fingers down through the sand, turning his head to watch Ryo.

“What are your parents like?” He was curious what sort of upbringing could produce a person like Ryo. Surely one of wealth and significance. Ryo never mentioned them, at any rate.

“Why would you ask that?” Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“It’s a normal question. Between friends.”

Ryo relaxed a little at that. Akira wondered when anyone had last asked him anything personal.

“Let me see… my mother was a schoolteacher before she met my father. After that…”He cleared his throat, adam’s apple bobbing. “And he was a broker. Successful in both St. Petersburg and Tokyo.”

“Yeah, but…” Akira tread lightly, aware that there was something there Ryo was avoiding. “What were they like as people?”

Ryo looked at him strangely. He wore his emotions more openly on vacation, Akira noticed – almost as much as a normal human. He looked confused.

”I’m sure you can surmise.”

Abruptly, he got to his feet and started to walk away. Akira jogged after him, shaking sand out of his hair.

“I can make assumptions, I guess. But people are hard to read.”

He probably shouldn’t have pressed, but as usual the more Ryo kept secret the more Akira wanted to know.

“They aren’t."

“Just you, then.”

Ryo rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re remarkably unobservant.”

“There’s hardly anything to observe! You’re out all the time, and when you _are_ home you just sit around and say everything as _vaguely_ as possible. Unless it’s about philosophy. Then you’re weirdly interested.”

“You think I’m weird?” He asked. The hurt in his voice was amusing.

“How about…eccentric?”

Ryo narrowed his eyes, lips twitching.

~~~~~

On the morning of the big swim, Akira woke up to sun pouring through their curtained window. It hadn’t been really sunny in the three days they’d been there. And he still hadn’t been in the water, aside from drunken antics in the hot tub. He pushed Miko’s arm from his chest and stumbled to the shower.

The smells and sounds of food cooking pulled him down the stairs. Ryo was cooking. Real food, too. Akira had never seen him cook before. He took a seat at the counter, curious. Ryo didn’t say anything, so Akira figured he was in a brooding mood. He put his chin to his hands, yawning. Ryo turned at the noise, frowning like Akira had done something wrong.

“You used to stomp.”

He set a fish cutlet down in front of Akira. And a bowl of rice and soup. The cup of coffee was next. Akira gulped that down before digging into the fish. Maybe he was just hungry, but it tasted _incredible_. He said as much, earning an unaffected shrug.

Ryo set three more places before picking up a plate and gracefully scooping pieces of fish into his mouth.

Koda took the stool next to Akira. Junichi collapsed onto the couch with a muffled yawn.

“Did you look at the weather?” Ryo asked, setting his half-empty plate down. Akira eyed the fish hungrily.

“We’ll have sun for like two hours,” Koda said, sliding his phone across the granite. “Up to sixty degrees, with any luck.”

Ryo sipped from a coffee cup. It was odd, Akira thought, how Ryo was so uncompromising during practice, but his hands looked so frail around the white coffee mug. Each knuckle stood out, sharp and distinct.

“I think it was forty-five last year,” he said. Akira balked, looking up.

“None of you got sick?”

“Just Miki,” Ryo laughed lightly. It brought Akira up short. He had only heard that laugh maybe once or twice before. It was rather compelling. “You can’t even imagine the complaining.”

“Babe,” Koda said, turning. “You’re not gonna eat?”

“Too early for food,” came the muttered reply. Akira held back a scoff – it was almost nine, for Christ’s sake.

Then again, he hadn’t gotten quite as drunk as Junichi the night before.

Quick hands stole Akira’s soup bowl away just as he was reaching for it. Miko gulped it down quickly against his stare.

“I’m ready,” she declared, slamming it down. She was already dressed in a serous-looking rash guard. “And you – “ she pointed a finger at Ryo. “Are going to delete that video.”

Akira had no idea what they were talking about. He must have gone to bed too early again. Everyone else was on a much different sleeping schedule.

“You aren’t gonna eat, either?” Koda asked her. She made a face and shook her head. He and Akira divvied up the remaining food and finished it off.

The house was less than a mile from the water, but their starting point for the swim was much farther. Akira ended up way ahead as they jogged. He stopped at a short pier, taking the time to stretch a little, looking around. A group of young, school aged children were gathered under a sign that advertised kayak school. The road ended there, meeting thick trees with brown leaves scattered on the ground. He waited for the rest to catch up.

“Are we running through the trees?”

“Yeah,” Junichi gasped, pulling Akira by the arm. “It’s not too bad.”

After another half mile, when running in swim shorts was starting to be unbearable, the ground ahead of them dropped off. Akira could finally see the water they could hear through the trees, but it was much farther down than he had expected. The rocky outcropping was sharp against his bare feet as he crept to the edge. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet, but Akira’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. Cold wind raised goosebumps on his bare chest and arms.

“Who’s first?” Koda asked, stretching. They all looked at Miko. She fiddled with the sleeves of her top, eyes betraying her nervousness. Akira wondered if she was a weak swimmer.

He held his hand out.

“Jump with me.”

She smiled and took his hand, and before either of them could overthink it, they jumped.

The water was even colder than he expected. All of his muscles locked into place with the shock of it, and it was only Miko’s hand that pulled him up. They gasped for air together, laughing in exhilaration.

“It’s not too bad,” she said, pushing her hair back and treading water. “Compared to last year.”

Akira had to disagree – he couldn’t even _imagine_ colder.

“Come on, you cowards!” She cried, starting toward the opposite shore. The sun came out just then, turning the dark water to a brilliant blue. Excited, he pulled the goggles Junichi had provided from around his neck and stuck them over his eyes, diving below the surface.

Bubbles of air trailed from his nose as he descended. It wasn’t as deep as he thought it would be. The bottom sloped up, and silvery fish darted just out of his reach. The splashes of Miko’s swimming were warbled and ethereal, as were the three splashes that tore through the water behind him.

Ryo’s hair was slicked straight back when they came up for air, making him look younger, somehow. He smiled widely at Akira, water dripping off the end of his nose. Akira hardly noticed Koda and Junichi swimming past. He could only smile back.

“I think we’re being left behind,” Ryo said after a moment, sinking below the surface. Akira shook himself out of it and started swimming. He really needed to be more careful, before Ryo suspected he had brain damage.

It was more slow-going than he would have thought. They didn’t seem to be making progress, until he glanced back at the distant jumping point. The others needed a rest about halfway across the bay, floating on their backs and breathing hard. Akira didn’t feel too tired, though the swimming was definitely working a different muscle group than he usually trained on. And there was no warming up - whatever warmth he generated was whisked away by the water.

“So…cold,” Junichi muttered. He yelped as something dragged him under, then Ryo surfaced, laughing again. Junichi turned outraged eyes on Akira.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing!”

“Babe, protect my honor!”

Koda grinned and started splashing them, which kicked off a whole splashing war that had them all giggling like children. Even Ryo.

Miko drifted off to the side, looking miserable. Eventually, Akira took pity and swam over to her.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m cold,” she pouted, lips turning blue.

“No turning back,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.”

They kicked toward the shore. He essentially had to drag her for the last hundred feet, toward the rocky beach. His muscles felt like jelly and the air felt like ice against his skin. Miko dripped pathetically, standing close to steal the warmth he didn’t have.

“That was way easier than last time,” she said.

“It wasn’t too bad,” Akira agreed. He felt exhilarated, just happy with the fact that he'd done it.

He was pleasantly tired and not very much looking toward to the damp walk back to the house. They cheered as Junichi, Koda and Ryo climbed out of the water. Akira’s eyes were drawn to Ryo, and the water droplets that climbed down barely defined abdominals. They way his chest heaved with every breath.

“Holy shit,” Koda said simply as they exchanged high-fives. “Let’s go eat.”

They started to walk. There was a paved road instead of thick forest, so Akira stopped and let Miko climb onto his back. She wasn’t very heavy, and it only slowed him down a little. They talked amiably as they strolled, getting some odd looks from passerby in their shivering, damp states.

A few blocks from the house, Akira felt it coming. It had been about two hours, after all. 

“Get down,” he said, trying to push Miko from his back before she got hurt. She hopped off, looking offended.

“What – “ She gasped as he fell to his knees. 

“It’s just soreness,” he grit out, eyes shut and arms wrapped around his stomach. It felt like his lungs were collapsing, and his legs would never hold his weight again. It felt _horrible_ , but he knew it would pass. It had just been so long since it was this bad.

As the pain faded, he opened his eyes. Ryo crouched in front of him, eyes wide and concerned. He looked scared. Akira drew back from him, standing and meeting three more pairs of concerned eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said. They didn’t look convinced, and he was abruptly self-conscious. “What? You’ve all seen it before.”

“Yeah, but…” Junichi turned his eyes to Ryo. “Not for a long time.”

“Just worked a different, muscle group, I guess.” Akira glanced at Ryo against his better judgement. “Can you stop staring now?”

Everyone but Ryo turned their gazes away, slowing resuming their walk.

~~~~~

After an entire afternoon of concerned stares, Akira was ready to get very, very drunk. They were going out to a bar, or club. No one was very clear. He put on jeans and a t-shirt, much to Miko’s chagrin. She came out of the bathroom wearing a short black dress and very high heels.

“Akira?”

He turned from tying his shoes, immediately distrustful of her mischievous eyes.

“Come here.”

He went there, standing next to her before the mirror. She hemmed and hawed about something, looking over him.

“Your hair is getting long.”

“I know,” he said, looking at it. It was hanging behind his ears now, longer than he usually let it go. But he avoided his reflection whenever he could. It was strange and unfamiliar.

“Can I try something, _please?”_ She asked, clasping her hands. He opened his mouth to argue, then decided that there was no point. They were on vacation, after all.

“Go for it.”

She produced a black tube from thin air, squeezing a line of white goop onto her palm. He didn’t expect her to reach up and smash it into his hair.

“What – ?”

“Be patient!” She dragged her fingers over his scalp, pulling the gel back through his hair. With what seemed like practiced skill, she made his hair slick back in a way that didn’t look horrendous. It was dark and shining and so much less like a stack of hay.

“Do you like it?” She ran her hands under the tap.

“Actually, yes. Kind of.”

“So we’ve established trust.” She turned and popped the lid from a stick of what he knew was eyeliner. He’d watched Miki apply it before, and it always made his eyes water in sympathy.

But he let Miko put it on, a little disbelieving of himself. He expected her to do something crazy, but she didn’t. She only dabbed the slightest amount of black around his eyes, smudging it out with her fingers, leaving behind some of the glittery substance she had used on her own face. He thought that looked good, too. Then she proclaimed that he was too hot for his outfit, so she forced him into black pants, a baggy shirt, and a leather jacket.

“How did you know this stuff would fit me?” He asked, turning in front of the mirror. Maybe he should have started letting her play dress-up with him a while ago.

“Ryychan sent me your sizes.”

She pulled him down the steps, impressively agile in her ridiculous shoes. Junichi and Koda looked at Akira with wide eyes, and then at each other, breaking into wide smiles.

“What?” Akira asked. As usual, he felt left out of whatever the joke was.

“Nothing,” Koda said carefully. “You just clean up nice.”

“So do you,” Akira grumbled reluctantly. For once, he didn't feel like the odd one out.

“Are you guys gonna pregame with me or what?” Miko pressed a shot glass to her lips, throwing back something clear.

“Me,” Junichi said, holding his hand out. She poured a line of shots and they all took one. Akira and Miko broke into giggles when Koda started choking.

“Let me guess – vodka,” Ryo said, coming down the steps. “I’m such a martyr.”

“Your – choice – dude,” Koda said between coughs. “I offered to drive.”

Ryo waved his hand, twirling the car keys in his fingers. A white kimono jacket billowed around his elbows. His eyes found Akira’s and just as quickly fluttered away. The keys snapped into his palm. “Shall we go?”

Night fell gently, some sunset lingering on the horizon. Some of the warmth of the day remained, so Akira’s breath didn’t fog and he didn’t shiver in his jacket.

The drive was no longer than thirty minutes, but it felt much shorter as they passed around a flask of burning liquid. Miko was practically bouncing in her seat as Ryo found a parking spot amidst tall buildings, and then she was pulling Akira along the alleyway toward their destination. A few months previous, Akira would have been terrified of being out at night like this. But now he knew he could protect himself, and he found himself laughing along with her.

The town they had driven to was fairly big, but nothing like Tokyo. He didn’t expect there to be a club of any renown, but there was actually a bouncer and a line in the front of a dilapidated building. It was late enough for the street lamps to be lit, and the neon sign of the club glowed orange and green. The line was probably thirty people long, all fairly young. He tried to look normal as Miko put her arm in his and strode past all of them. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the rest of their group walking close behind.

There were two bouncers, big guys in black suits. Miko leaned into one’s ear, whispering something Akira had no hope of hearing. The man nodded and stepped to the side, letting them in. There were some muttered complaints from the line.

It was a large space, the true scope hidden by darkness and flashing lights. It wasn’t as packed as these places always were in the movies and such, but there was a decent crowd on the dance floor, with small groups sat to the side in booths or at the bar. Miko made an excited noise in her throat and ran toward the bar. The rest followed, Akira trailing behind and watching the way Ryo’s shirt billowed.

The bartender looked up just in time for Miko to nearly throw herself across the wood as she pulled her in for a kiss. There was scattered applause from those who saw.

“That’s Narumi,” Junichi said over his shoulder, winking. Akira raised his eyebrows.

Miko and the girl finally broke away from each other. She was pretty, with short dark hair and muscular arms. She looked understandably winded for a second before noticing the rest of them.

“This is Akira,” Miko pointed at him, reaching down over the bar to try and swipe a bottle. Narumi caught her hand to stop her. “He’s our newest addition. Cute, huh?”

“Very. I’m Narumi,” the woman said, holding out a hand. Akira shook it, hoping his palms weren’t sweaty.

“Akira. Nice to meet you.”

“Junichi,” she crooned, setting her chin on a fist. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he answered cheerfully. “Is Haru here?”

Narumi rolled her eyes and nodded. “He’s _socializing_. Oh well, more tips for me. What can I get you guys?”

“Two beers,” Miko answered, “A glass of chardonnay, and a White Russian for Akira.”

A hysterical giggle broke through Junichi’s lips, but when Akira gave him a startled look he was gazing at the dancing crowd thoughtfully. Koda and Ryo had disappeared.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Miko said dreamily as Narumi turned her back on them.

“So you’re…together?” Akira asked awkwardly. After all this time, he would have thought she’d have mentioned a girlfriend.

“We have a standing arrangement,” Miko said suggestively, winking. “It’s not exclusive, but it _is_ mind-blowingly – “

“Alright, that’s enough,” Junichi said tiredly. “I’m gonna go find the guys.”

Akira made to follow him, but Miko clamped a hand on his arm. “Wait! I need help with the drinks!”

“Come back and visit?” Narumi asked playfully, pushing the drinks across the bar. “I don’t get off until one.”

Miko gestured for Akira to take the beers. “I’ll be back.”

Akira turned around to avoid the next onslaught of lip-locking and maybe spot his friends across the crowded room. What he did was walk straight into a very burly chest.

“Whoa!” Said a deep voice, steadying Akira’s hands to keep him from dropping the bottles. Akira looked up at the man he’d almost soaked in beer. His first thought was that he was extremely handsome. Dark hair was cut short, jaw squared, and lips turning in a kind smile.

“S-sorry,” Akira said, stepping back. He couldn’t figure out why this man’s eyes were so familiar, until Miko noticed him.

“Haru!”

“Look who it is.” The man stepped around Akira and slid behind the bar. His muscles stuck out in a way that suggested weight lifting instead of cardio and martial arts. “Little Kuroda.”

Miko preened as Haru set a tray down and started mixing drinks together. Narumi snatched a wad of cash from his shirt pocket.

“What the hell?”

“I made those drinks.”

“Well, I served them,” he sprayed beer at her from the tap, and both she and Miko screeched in outrage.

“Can you believe him?” Miko asked Akira, eyes alight. He shook his head in mock disbelief.

“You two know each other?” Haru asked, filling two pint glasses.

“This is our friend Akira.” She picked up the glasses and nudged Akira away. “I’ll be back soon!”

“See you,” the two bartenders said in unison. The man caught Akira’s eye and smiled.

“Are they related?” He asked Miko, moving around the outskirts of the dance floor. Music boomed from speakers in the walls, so loud he was sure she hadn’t heard him.

“Yeah! Brother and sister,” she called, craning her neck. “They own this place!”

Well, that was impressive. They looked young.

“There they are!” She said, drinks swaying with her point. Akira followed her to a booth sat in the corner.

“Beers,” Akira said, holding them out. Koda and Junichi each took one. Miko shoved in on their side of the booth, leaving Akira to sit next to Ryo.

“Do you remember that one guy – oh what was his name?” Junichi looked to Miko in question. “The one with the dreadlocks.”

“Oh, _fire hydrant guy_?” Miko started laughing. “How could I forget?”

Junichi launched into a story about someone getting too high and trying to put out an imaginary fire on the dance floor. Akira sipped his drink, an incredibly sweet cocktail, and laughed along with the story.

When Miko started to argue with him about the details, Akira glanced to his right. Ryo was frowning down at Akira’s drink.

"What?”

Ryo looked at him guiltily. “Nothing.”

“You don’t think I should be drinking,” Akira said, able to read between the lines.

“I didn’t say that.”

But Akira knew – he had seen it coming ever since the episode after swimming. Ryo tended to get skittish when anything went wrong with Akira’s health. But Akira was completely _fine_ , and he didn’t need Ryo to tell him any different.

He downed his drink in a big gulp, feeling the other side of the table fall silent in awe.

“Back to the bar?”

Miko nodded, already getting up.

Haru was gone, but Narumi served them both tall glasses of something that tasted like actual gasoline, with the slightest hint of watermelon. It went straight to his head, and he didn’t even hesitate in taking Miko onto the dance floor. A song he actually knew was on, and he wanted to dance.

Miko handed him her flask at one point, face glowing with sweat and glitter. Bodies moved around them, altogether in sync and completely disparate. He downed enough to feel dizzy, and handed it back to her. Koda and Junichi were there, somewhere. He caught glimpses of them through the bodies.

“Another drink?” She called in his ear. He nodded, following her to the bar. His head swam with happiness and too much energy.

“Already?” Haru asked them, eyebrows raised. Miko looked right past him.

“Where is she?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Serving drinks somewhere.”

Miko turned without another word, leaving Akira alone. He sat at a stool.

“How long have you owned this place?” He asked. The alcohol made him feel sociable and not awkward at all. Haru smiled easily – bartending must make you really good at talking to people.

“About five years.” He said. His voice was deep. Akira liked it. “What about you? How did you end up friends with Kuroda?”

“Oh, that’s because of Ryo.” Akira turned to where he knew their booth was, all anger with Ryo forgotten. He pointed out Ryo’s blond head and waved. Ryo frowned back at him. “He saved my life.”

Haru looked surprised. “How so?”

“It’s a long story. Can I get a drink?”

Haru poured him a beer, looking at some point over Akira’s shoulder. “Asuka still a wine guy?”

Akira coughed. “You _know_ Ryo?”

“We’ve met,” Haru said evasively, pouring a glass of wine. “Will you tell him this one’s on me?”

“Yeah.” Akira took the glass, confused. “Sure.”

Haru hefted the tray up on one hand. “Thanks – enjoy yourself, man.”

Ryo was the only one at the table. Akira set the wineglass down a little harder than absolutely necessary and slid in across from him.

“That’s from Haru.”

Ryo’s lips twitched. He raised the glass toward the bar and nodded. Akira didn’t look over.

“How did he know you like wine?”

Ryo turned his eyes to Akira. “It’s his job.”

Right. Akira sank down in the seat. “He seems nice.”

“I don’t want to talk about Haru.”

Akira looked up in surprise. He didn’t want to _talk_ about _Haru_? That could only mean there was something to talk about. He didn’t think he liked Haru all that much, suddenly.

Ryo took a sip of wine and pushed it to Akira, taking the beer instead. “I prefer red. You’re a good dancer.”

Akira didn’t think that was true – he was just too drunk to care about how he looked. “Why don’t you go out there?”

“You’d have to get me much drunker.”

Akira would remember that.

~~~~~

He didn’t really know how they got back to the house. There was giggling, and shoving, and lots of being dizzy. Miko walked off in the opposite direction with Narumi’s arm around her, and Akira could only feel relief that he wouldn’t be smothered to death in his sleep that night. Then he was being herded into the car by a very cute blonde boy, and he sort of forgot about Miko.

He knew he was in trouble when Koda and Junichi went straight to their room. Sleep seemed like a waste of his manic energy, but he couldn’t just…hang out with Ryo right now. He didn’t trust himself.

“Lightweights,” Ryo muttered, locking the door and tossing the keys onto the counter. “Won’t you stay up and have a drink with me?”

Akira froze like a deer in headlights, forgetting to answer until Ryo swirled around with a bottle in his hands, raising his eyebrows. He could only manage a shrug.

Ryo took a long drink from the bottle – vodka. Akira drifted forward, curious. Was Ryo trying to get drunk? It certainly seemed that way. He downed two, three more gulps before setting the bottle down and taking a steadying breath. “That’s repulsive.”

He turned and started looking through the fridge. Akira watched in mute fascination as he put a bowl of leftover miso in the microwave and started it up. The smell flooded the kitchen and he took the bowl eagerly when Ryo had drained about half. Ryo just stared at him all the while, looking indecisive about something. He opened his mouth once, but closed it just as quickly, picking the bottle back up and tipping it back.

“Know what’s better than being drunk?” Akira asked when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Ryo shook his head. “I honestly don’t.”

"Being drunk in a hot tub.”

And because his skin prickled and he thought the cold air might clear his head, he got up and pushed the patio door open, shivering instantly. It helped, a little. He pulled his shirt and pants off and slid into the water with a sigh of relief. It was difficult not to tense up when he heard Ryo follow him. A knee brushed his under the water.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said, when he thought he could control his voice. He opened his eyes to find Ryo peering at him, and his skin prickled again.

“I’m glad you came.”

More silence. It wasn’t exactly _awkward_ , Akira just wished Ryo wasn’t so naturally stoic.

“Why didn’t you go talk to Haru?” He bit his lip as soon as the words were out. Stupid. _Stupid_.

Ryo’s brow wrinkled like he was frustrated, then just as quickly smoothed over. But his voice was tight. “What does it matter?”

Akira shrugged, wishing he could dissolve like seafoam. “He made it seem like you were friends. Friendly.”

Ryo didn’t answer, which only made things worse. The need to speak was stronger than Akira’s mortification. He bit his lip.

“Unless you were more than friends?”

Ryo dropped his gaze, color rising to his cheeks. Akira’s embarrassment fell away, leaving a cold sort of acceptance behind. He laughed bitterly.

“What?” Ryo snapped.

“Diogenes was a liar.”

Ryo snorted and crossed his arms. “I’m surprised you even remember his name.”

Akira barely heard him, lost as he was in a drunken haze of…of jealousy. No point trying to sugarcoat it. And it _hurt_. He could never compete with someone as good looking as Haru. Ryo just stared at the wall, closed off again.

“He said that blushing was the color of virtue,” Akira said to himself, head resting on the tile corner of the pool.

“What did you say?”

Ryo’s voice was quiet, sharp. Akira took one step toward sober – that tone meant a fight. Maybe he had gotten it wrong…but, no, he was next to confident it was a Diogenes quote.

“He said that blushing was the color of – “

There was a splash, a jolt in the calm of the water, and Akira opened his eyes just as a body slammed against his. A mouth moved against his in a harsh, unfamiliar way, and it was only the faint smell of lemons that made him realize it must be _Ryo_ kissing him. The side of his brain responsible for rational thought stalled out, but his body had already taken over.

Before he knew it, his mouth was moving in response, hand wrapping around the back of Ryo’s neck. Ryo was doing this. _Ryo_. It was absurd, and ridiculous, and incredibly hot. Hot, even though Ryo’s lips were so soft, and his eyelashes brushed against Akira’s cheeks. Maybe it was in the way those soft lips gave way to sharp teeth that nipped at his lips, or the ruthless hand winding through his hair and pulling.

His dick was so hard so fast it actually hurt, and the gasp he let out against Ryo’s mouth only made the hand gripping his hair tighten. He wasn’t capable of processing much more than a pang of loss when Ryo sat back, floating between Akira’s legs.

“This is a mistake, isn’t it?”

His eyes were shut tight, arms taut as he gripped the tile on either side of Akira’s head.

“Tell me it’s a bad idea.”

Akira shook his head, terrified that this would end. “I think about you,” he blurted. Ryo’s eyes opened wide. “In the shower. Sometimes I – “

His mouth was suddenly very busy, and he was so relieved he took Ryo’s hips in his hands without thinking, lifting him so he was straddling Akira. It was easy, because they were in the water, but also because Ryo was just very light. His mouth tasted of miso and beer and vodka. After what felt like a long time, he couldn’t resist moving his hands, feeling up sharp hipbones and lean muscle.

“Upstairs. Now.”

Ryo’s command, though slightly slurred, cut through the haze enough for Akira to let go of him, and he belatedly realized that his grip on Ryo had probably become too tight. Ryo probably didn’t like someone digging their fingernails into the small of his back.

Ryo got out, all but pulling Akira along with him. Standing up reminded him of just how far he still was from sober, but with Ryo pulling him along he wasn’t so anxious about it. Ryo was drunk, too, wasn’t he? Akira couldn’t remember if Ryo had gulped down all that vodka or if he’d dreamed it. They went to Ryo’s room, which felt strange for reasons Akira couldn’t identify. His brain wouldn’t cooperate for long enough.

Their mouths reconnected after a sharp shove had Akira sprawled on the bed. Ryo followed, the firm line of a thigh pressing against his erection. Heat, overwhelming heat. The only respite were Ryo’s hands, moving over his chest, down his stomach, and under –

He made a humiliating sound in his throat, and a hand pressed over his mouth.

“Shhh…” Ryo said, shifting his weight. His fingers returned to Akira’s waistband, moving past the elastic and deftly closing around his member. Akira’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, thoughts spinning as the hand around him started to move. It was so deliriously, shockingly better than his shower fantasies that he could only try not to black out.

He feebly reached for Ryo’s groin, some part of his brain urging him to reciprocate. Ryo’s skin was cold and wet from the tub, tacky against Akira’s fingertips. He was hard, too. And leaking. And that part of him was so…

There was a noise against his throat that sounded like a complaint, so he got moving, trying to emulate the things he did to himself that he liked so much. He could only hope that his hand felt half as good as Ryo’s did on him. He knew things were moving to a crescendo, and there was no stopping it. His fingers dug into Ryo’s hip again, and the quiet, startled moan in his ear sent him toppling over the edge. It was explosive, implosive… all the plosives. His mouth was covered again as he cried out, and then Ryo was coming, too, muffling his own sounds by sinking his teeth into Akira’s skin.

Akira only stopped moving his fist once his hand was knocked aside. Ryo breathed heavily into his neck for a few quiet, blissful seconds before groaning again. But this groan was more disgusted. Akira closed his eyes, sighing in disappointment when Ryo climbed off. There was a rustle of fabric, then the squeak of a faucet. Something wet landed on Akira’s stomach.

“Clean yourself up.”

But Akira was already drifting off. The orgasm had drained him, literally and metaphorically. Now it was just the haze, the disbelief of what they had just done already fading away.

A low voice murmured something dark, and then his underwear was being pulled off and a towel dabbed at his softening cock. Too far gone to think to help, he gave a contented sigh and was instantaneously asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was something. Extra long chapter for my long absence. School is in full swing and it feels weird to write smut in the library, but i do it for you guys ;)


	9. Chapter Nine

The next morning was not pleasant. His head was pounding before he even opened his eyes, and his mouth and throat scraped like he'd swallowed sand. Alcohol was a curse. He’d never touch it again.

Someone coughed loudly somewhere in the house. Akira opened his eyes and sat up, two things that should have been able to happen simultaneously but today amounted to swirling vision and a vicious tilt to his inner ear that had him scrambling to the bathroom.

It wasn’t hard to find – there were only two doors, and he had entered through the one on the right. There wasn’t even time for surprise at the way cold air hit his bare genitals.

Cold tile met his knees with a _smack,_ a nice, clean sound before the horrible, wet vomiting. It tasted horrible and felt worse. Not even the track party had been this bad. Alcohol was evil. It was poison, and it was sour, and it didn’t _even_ have the decency to taste better coming back up.

Eventually, his stomach stopped turning. He gagged a few more times on pure impulse, trying to force as much up as he could. Reaching to flush meant turning his head up, and that was when he saw two pairs of underwear hanging on the shower rod. One belonged to him, and the other…

After the next bout of retching, he flushed and got to his feet. The mirror reflected a corpse. Kohl black eyeliner clouded under his eyes, fine lines dissolved into a big mess. His hair still had that stuff in it, only sleep had transformed him from something approaching sexy into something…else. Maybe he went outside, and in his drunken stupor forgot he was struck by lightning. 

Half-hunched from the nausea, he ripped his now-dry underwear down and shoved his legs through. If he was caught in the hall, or if – heaven help him – Miko was back already, he needed any amount of dignity available. An ear to the door told him all the sounds were coming from downstairs, so he eased the door open and danced-slash-ran to his room, making big strides with as little noise as possible.

He was in his own shower and well into a thorough scrub-down before the thoughts could really start to close in on him. The bed had been empty. Had Ryo slept next to him? Had…had they…

Panting, he gulped down some water directly from the showerhead. What, _exactly_ , happened? If he just started from there, then maybe the worst of the panic would go away.

There had been a hand on him. On his dick. He remembered that much. And there was a specific, faint ache in his balls. Orgasm. It didn’t seem that big of a leap to assume that the hand and the orgasm had something to do with one another.

_This is a mistake, isn’t it?_

He had to brace one hand on the shower wall as his stomach roiled and gurgled. Without looking, he thrust out to shut the water off and pulled his towel down. He’d never be able to go downstairs. Or leave the shower. _Yeah_ , he thought with relief, _I could live in this bathroom_. It had running water _and_ plumbing.

“Fudo!”

His foot slipped. It was only some ingrained training instinct that allowed him to catch himself before he brought the shower curtain down completely.

“Go away!” He called, securing the towel around his waist and stepping out of the treacherously slick tub. She was already opening the door, waving at the steam in the air and managing to look _chipper_ in last night’s dress.

“Hot tub, huh?” She smiled, turning to the sink. Akira flinched.

“What?”

“The makeup,” she chided. He forced his shoulders to relax a fraction as she rifled through her belongings. “It ran. Here.”

She put a gentle hand on his cheek, thumb pulling his under-eye taut so she could press a cotton pad to it. Some sweet-smelling oil bled into his skin. “You’re so hungover. I almost feel bad for laughing.”

He grumbled something that didn’t quite manage to be words. She switched to the other eye, beaming. “Have fun?”

Well, there was no response to _that_ question. He turned his eyes up until she let go of his chin and tossed the charcoal-colored cotton into the bin and swiped her hands together. “That’s better. You don’t look so – “

Miko stopping short like that was never good. Really just wanting to get dressed, he started to move past her. If he could get some pants on, maybe this conversation would be over and no one would ever know –

Sharp nails dug into his arm, stopping him completely. “Akira!”

“What?”

She pushed him back, keeping a tight hold on his arm while she scrubbed at the mirror fog so he could see the faint, fading bruise on his neck. Right where the muscle of his shoulder stood out. Teeth. Breathy moans and teeth against his skin.

“It’s nothing.” He blinked the memory away, unsettled at his own desire. “A – just a guy from last night.”

“ _What?”_ She shrieked, eyes popping. The sound was like a knife to his ears, reverberating pain up through his temples. “A _guy?_ You made out with someone last night?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. Her eyes went impossibly wider, glitter hanging to the tips of her eyelashes.

“W-when did this happen?”

“Dance floor,” he mumbled, using her shock to get free and escape to the bedroom. She was silent while he got dressed. He couldn't even do that without thinking of Ryo - all the clothes were touched by his influence.

“Did…” she stood in the doorway, hands braced on either side. Every part of her was frozen, but her eyes wheeled with fast thinking. “Did Asuka see?”

He attempted a shrug. “Who cares?”

“Don’t be dense.”

“Just leave it alone." He tugged white cotton down over his stomach forcefully. "Okay? It’s over.”

She stomped over and tugged at his shirt collar, either getting another look or trying to cover it up.

“Fine,” mischievous eyes raked over his face. She still smelled like the bar, but somehow it flattered her. “But if you just wanted to make him jealous, I could have done it.”

His stomach made a low sound. Sweat threatened his lower back. “Is there food downstairs?”

Miko rolled her eyes, but he felt her concern on his back as he left her to take a shower.

“Akira,” Junichi said brightly, heedless of his hangover. “Narumi brought food!”

He scanned the room. Ryo wasn't there. Narumi, who at least had changed clothes, waved from an armchair. Koda tossed over a burger, and for the next few minutes Akira didn’t think of anything but the burst of artificial flavors and grease.

“We decided on the _onsen_ today,” Junichi said, tilting his head. “You look like you need it.”

“Yeah,” Koda agreed. “I didn’t know you were so drunk.”

Akira groaned and slumped to his side, pressing his cheek to the soft carpet and pinching the bridge of his nose. Idle conversation filled the air – they were waiting on Ryo. Akira wasn’t going to ask where he was. He wasn’t.

“Where is he?”

“Here.” Someone pressed two white pills into his palm. He swallowed them dry. “I think he went running.”

“Running,” Narumi said with distaste. “I can barely handle being in the sun right now.”

A few minutes later Miko’s distinctive trotting footsteps came down the steps. Her foot prodded into his shoulder. “Come on. Sit up.”

“No. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.” He probably should have seen that coming. “I’ll carry you.”

“You can have my spinach wrap,” Junichi offered. Akira sat up, taking the wrap just as the front door opened.

He felt Miko’s eyes on him. Probably because he was the only one who didn’t turn to greet the latecomer. Instead of letting his eyes go anywhere they wanted to, he stared down at the sandwich. His appetite died a quick, violent death.

“We’re doing _onsen_ ,” Koda barked. “Go shower.”

Small scuffles. Ryo kicking his shoes off. “Alright,” he said simply.

Miko ended up eating the wrap.

“Please tell me you remember dancing with me,” Junichi said, helping him up off the floor when it was time to go. “You were _hot_. Who knew?”

"I hope you enjoyed it. It'll never happen again."

"Don't ever say that," he squeezed Akira's shoulder cheerfully as they climbed into the car.

“Jun,” Koda asked, turning from the front seat. “You get my wallet?”

“Always.” Junichi passed it up, handing it over with a loud kiss on the cheek. Akira sank low, leaning his forehead against the glass. He could see Ryo’s hand on the steering wheel, pale and bony and strong. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“We’re going to the one on the hill, right?” Narumi asked, leaning up from the back. “That’s where I told Haru to meet us.”

“That’s the one,” Ryo said. Calm and serene.

Akira kept his lips closed tightly, lest he start heaving again.

It was a cloudy day. He felt the cold through the edges of his miasma, and wondered if it would snow. The hill they were headed toward faced the bay they’d swam through (impossible to think it was only a day ago). The _onsen_ was a wooden, lodge-type structure. No part of it was interesting enough to merit his attention, but the front room was warm. Koda went to the woman at the desk. Akira saw him flash her a bright smile. She blushed.

“Did you have fun last night?” Narumi asked, sitting next to him on the little wooden bench. “I didn’t get to talk to you much.”

“I did,” he said, forcing the tremulous corners of his mouth into a smile. “You have a really cool job.”

She shrugged, brushing dark hair behind one ear. “It’s been a long time since Kuroda and the rest brought down anyone…new.”

“What?” He asked, sharper than he meant. Narumi drew back a little.

“Well, Junichi only showed up a few years back.” This time she lowered her voice as she leaned back in. “Are you…you know?”

Akira shrugged. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“Didn’t think so,” she said grimly. “You seem a little too innocent. No offense.”

It sounded like something Miko would say. He allowed himself to like Narumi just a little bit. After all, it wasn’t her fault who she was related to. “Do you know?”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “Me and Haru…don’t ask questions. It’s a weird kind of friendship, I’ll admit.”

“Is that what you call it?” He asked, smirking. Her eyes flashed to Miko.

“Definitely not.”

At that moment, Haru arrived. A bright beam of sun shot across the floor as the door opened. He was all white teeth and warm, deep greetings. Ryo brightened and smiled, waving him over and placing one hand on his arm to say something quietly. They both laughed.

“They really get along,” Narumi said, following Akira’s blank gaze. “It’s only always once a year, but Haru looks forward to it. We both do.”

Miko, walking over to them, made a very strange face as she heard what Narumi was saying. She closed the distance at a hasty skip, trying much too hard to be natural.

“Numi.” She pulled at her friend’s hand. “We’re all set. Have fun, Fudo!”

He ignored her little wave, slumping back to the wall until Junichi retrieved him. Everything was hazy at the edges, his disconnect helped along by heavy, salty steam. Numb, he disrobed and folded his clothes in the little wooden shower stall. Haru’s booming laugh was impossible to ignore.

He was the first to finish showering, walking naked to the outdoor pool. It was empty. Maybe Ryo had rented the whole place out? He thought it would have been more crowded.

The mountain water stretched out, contained by high edges paved in granite. A wooden awning cast chilly shade over most of it, ready to catch the threatening snow should it decide to fall. Steam curled over the surface, wrapping tenderly around his ankle as he waded in. Minerals added a milky hue, obscuring his lower half in the deepest parts.

Someone joined him with a splash. He turned away from peering down the hillside.

“Hey,” Koda said, floating over.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

 _Ugh._ “I’m fine." He shrugged. “Hungover.”

Koda made a sound of acknowledgement. Akira tried to smile, even as the other three came outside together.

“You shouldn’t,” Junichi was saying. “You’d be taking a paycut.”

“Yeah.” Haru scratched his jaw idly, water splashing around large thighs that Akira Could Not Look At. If he had any sense of self-preservation he would just jump over the ledge against his back. “That’s true.”

“Hiring someone else makes sense, financially.” That was Ryo’s voice. Akira turned further toward the trees, trying to look limp and hungover so no one questioned his quietness.

“What?” He mumbled, realizing Koda had been talking to him.

“I said if you’re not up to it, I’ll stay sober with you tonight. We can play cards and keep the kids from burning the house down.”

“Sober?” Junichi threw his arms over Koda’s broad shoulders, hanging onto his back and sending a splash of warm water into Akira’s face. “Who’s sober?”

“Me, tonight.”

“That’s no fun.” Junichi sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Fine. Sober. But let’s spend it somewhere nice. That place with the really ugly chandeliers.”

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Asuka,” Haru said, tipping his head back against the granite. He was much closer than Akira realized. But then, he’d been refusing to look in their general direction. “God, it’s been so long since I went somewhere I don’t own.”

Ryo sat next to him, their elbows close but not quite touching. He looked very small next to Haru's bulk. “Sober sounds nice, actually.”

“Ugh, fine.”

His voice was light, playful. They were friends, Akira reminded himself. If Ryo wanted to – to – and why wouldn't he? Haru was really, quite devastatingly attractive.

Warm water slipped up to his chin. He stared up at the clouds and shot down Junichi’s attempts to include him.

_____________________

“Wake. _Up._ ”

The curtain was pulled sharply back, letting in a stream of late afternoon sun that burned away any sleep Akira had been hoping to achieve. His blankets weren’t ripped away, nor did any pillow smack into his head. Only a gentle weight settled in the curve of his stomach, where he was curled at the edge of the bed.

“I thought you were going to Narumi’s,” he managed, looking up at her still-damp waves of hair. They were all taking a post- _onsen_ lounge about before dinner. 

“Fudo…” she stroked his hair back from his face with a gentle hand. Her lower lip jutted out for a moment, worried and pouting all at once. “I could be having very hot, very limber sex right now – “

He made a disgusted sound.

“ _So_.” Her hand tightened in his hair, forcing him to look at her. “I must be pretty fucking worried about you to be here instead. What happened last night?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Liar._ Did you two have another fight?”

“No.”

“Was it about Haru?”

He felt his mouth spread in an automatic grimace. Miko leaned in, latching to his hesitation like a dog with a bone. “It was, wasn’t it? Akira, it’s not what you think – “

“I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity.” She thought they’d had a fight. If only it were that simple. “But I’d love a glass of water.”

He closed his eyes against her obstinate frown, until finally the hand dropped from his hair and he heard her retreating. The water helped. He really started feeling human after Junichi made him soup. They were worried about him, and guilt started to edge up against the void. For them, he got up and got dressed and went to stupid dinner.

_________________________

“Order something greasy, okay?” Miko advised, holding a hand to his forehead. “Or just something with vodka. Hair of the dog.”

“Stop touching my face.” He grabbed her hand and guided it to his arm as they walked. This was nothing like the neon-bleached alleys of the night before. This street was crowded. His anxiety threatened, but they were out of the car and inside the dimly-lit interior before he could think too hard, and Miko's tight grip helped ground him.

Ryo, Haru, and Narumi waited for them in a booth. Now that he’d had some time to collect himself, Akira made an effort to take in his surroundings. It was obscenely expensive- he knew that instantly. Two huge chandeliers lit with real flames hung high up, casting warbling light down on the flashy clientele. It was an intimate place, the light hiding faces while accentuating jewelry and wineglasses.

They were all dressed nice – _he_ was dressed nice, though he hadn’t spared himself a second glance on the way out. Miko had dressed him and, meeting no resistance, taken liberties with his hair.

Ryo wouldn’t do anything so boring as wear a suit, but the dove gray jacket over a vee-neck was just as effective. He could have been here on business, yet managed an effortless ease Akira had only ever seen between the pages of a fashion magazine. Untouchable. Youth and elegance incarnate.

Desire - unwelcome and smothering - curled in his chest as Ryo looked back.

“Heyyy,” Miko drawled, the English word harsh and nasal. Narumi slid out to embrace her. She, too, was a vision of dark silks and shoulder pads. Haru looked fine.

There was a hand on his back, and Akira found himself forcefully jostled into the empty side of the booth. Koda shifted him along until he was pressed quite tightly between him and Ryo. Great.

“Did you already order?” Junichi asked from behind a menu.

“Canapes,” Ryo replied, pale hand twitching Akira’s menu closer. Akira picked it up, uncomfortably aware of how every movement pressed them closer together. 

The appetizers came quickly – tuna tartare with nori chips. Akira was too focused on his hunger to participate in conversation, but that wasn't new. Miko's eyes cut to him every now and then, clearly calculating a way to drag him into the fray.

“You’ve been so far away today,” a soft voice said, surprising him into looking. Haru was well into an argument with Narumi, making everyone laugh. But Ryo was looking at Akira, his voice pitched low to fall just beneath the volume of conversation. “I did see this coming.”

Heat pitched across Akira’s cheeks before he realized what Ryo was referring to – the drinking. Of course. But the double meaning had most definitely been intentional. That Ryo could be vague about even _that_ grated at him.

Two could play at that game. “You didn’t try to stop me.”

The innuendo came on much stronger than he’d wanted, and lowering his tone also meant dropping pitch. Ryo didn’t visibly react, but the skin around his eyes tensed just slightly. Akira couldn’t read it, despite how close they were – which was _very_. Proximity was usually within the context of sparring. This couldn't be more different. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, much less what Ryo expected of him.

“Should I have?” Large blue eyes moved down to Akira’s mouth for less than a second, and then Ryo was idly examining his water glass. It would have felt like a dismissal, if his shoulder didn’t still lean just slightly into Akira’s.

“That depends,” Akira nearly whispered, looking away as he lost his courage. He felt Ryo's sigh, and wondered what it meant. What anything meant.

The tactless blare of Miko’s voice was soon turned on him, forcing him into a story about his finals for everyone to hear. It wasn’t the most interesting of subjects, but it kept him from agonizing over the lines of Ryo’s body still pressed against him. There was room, a space between him and Haru for him to move into. Akira didn't _want_ him to, necessarily, because then he might be pressed up against Haru and that was much worse. Possibly even more distracting.

The food was what he expected – too complex of a recipe in much too small of a serving. Knowing what it must cost, he ate every bite. He wasn’t a part of this group in any tangible way. It was only the man beside him that grounded his attention, otherwise he might drift completely. Once, Haru pulled up a video on his phone – some wayward, drunk customer making a fool of themselves in their bar – and Ryo leaned to view the screen. His torso moved away, but the point of his knee pressed firmly into Akira’s thigh. An innocent, thoughtless touch that had clammy sweat breaking out over Akira’s palms and lower back.

After what seemed like an eternity, dinner ended. There were scattered complaints of full stomachs that Akira didn’t join. Miko and Koda took turns trying to drag Akira into their opposite sides of a TV debate – something about a new host being worse than the last one. He took Koda’s side out of spite.

“Nightcap?” Came the very low hum of Haru’s baritone, where he and Ryo lagged behind their group. The alley was dark and shadowy, thick gloom broken only by his friend’s jubilant voices. Ryo’s answer was too quiet to discern, but he climbed into their car as Miko departed with the other two. Akira was childishly, absurdly relieved.

“Movie?” Koda suggested when they were back at the house. Akira dreaded the stillness that would require when he felt so restless, but he happily agreed. Anything to avoid being left alone with Ryo. And going to bed so early would only draw suspicion.

He sat in a single chair, away from the claustrophobia of the couch. Ryo sat on the opposite side, far from Akira but no less distracting. The movie didn’t have a chance of holding his attention for more than a few seconds. There were a few good action sequences that he and Junichi hooped and hollered to. Around the third act, though, Akira’s skin started to itch.

Ryo was staring at him. When Akira dared to look, deep blue eyes were trained on him, hooded and thoughtful. When he turned his eyes back to the screen, the sensation did not go away. He pushed his fingers through his hair and crossed his arms, trying not to squirm. Ryo stared at him a lot. This shouldn’t be different.

It was _so_ different. It was under his skin. It _burned,_ and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s not over yet!” Junichi pleaded as he announced he was going to bed. “Don’t you wanna see how they pull off the heist?”

“I’m sure it’ll keep me up,” Akira quipped, hurrying up the stairs without looking back. He went to his room and shut the door, leaning back against it with a massive exhale. The exhaustion was all mental, the last of his hangover cast away by food and large quantities of water. Sleep would probably not come for hours yet, but being under the blankets, alone, would feel so much better than –

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Two quiet taps against the wood. Suggestive. Not a demand, but a question. If Akira ignored it, he would go away and that would be that.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

Ryo looked ghostly in the dark hall. Without the suit jacket, the gray shirt hung soft over his shoulders, tucked into high trousers – rare in that it accentuated his form without billowing out over it. Akira didn’t know what to say – air wouldn’t properly flow into his lungs and his hand felt paralyzed on the edge of the door.

There was no hint of emotion in Ryo’s eyes. His head tilted almost curiously, eyes sweeping up and down once and stopping at Akira’s shoulder, where the mark had already faded.

“Akira…” he frowned, glancing back the way he’d come. “Will you come with me?”

It was such a ridiculous, open-ended question. Panic surged in Akira’s chest at the implications, and it must have shown on his face for Ryo to smile like that. One-sided, apologetic.

A long, pale hand reached out. Palm up. An invitation.

“I won’t bite,” he promised, when Akira still didn’t move. The smile spread until there was the faintest glint of teeth. “…again.”

Akira shivered as he reached out. Their palms settled together, hot against cold. Damp against dry. Ryo raised an eyebrow and pulled him into the hall.


End file.
